


Lost Years

by Hinotima24



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 236,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinotima24/pseuds/Hinotima24
Summary: [Post Great War] The Queen was critically injured in the Great War and her husband was thus left to be King, to rule the Seven Kingdoms and Essos and raise a son, the Crown Prince. Their marriage brought years of peace and prosperity to the Realm but the years of fighting and bloodshed seemed to be something that refuses to be left behind, catching up to them eventually





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_**The King’s Squire** _

“Your Grace,”

They watched as the King turned from the balcony where the sun was visibly rising on the horizon. They hurriedly bowed deeply, greeting him.

“Rise,” he nodded. They straightened and wasn’t surprised to see that he was already dressed and ready for court. The King was wearing his usual black colour from his tunic down to his boots. Only his cape that draped over one shoulder was maroon and he had only wore it because his Hand had insisted he looked the part for court, along with the crown that was missing upon his dark curly locks. The cape was draped over his right shoulder, secured by a modest leather belt over his chest and under his left arm. The King had even rejected having a 3 headed dragon or wolf brooch made for him for the cape.

Both squires were not surprised to see the King already fully awake and ready. He always was by the time they came to him; the moment the sun rose. 

 “Is there anything you need Your Grace?”

He shook his head and swept past them with nothing more than another nod of acknowledgment. They bowed slightly as he passed, heading straight for the door. The King had always been distant from them. They were only his squire as he had decided to honor their lord fathers for their service by allowing their sons to squire for the King. The King was distant to everybody. For as long as they remember, the King does not laugh, he barely smiles. The only time they have ever recalling him laughing was in the presence of the Starks, who had long left King’s Landing for Winterfell.

They trailed behind their King and the Kingsguard who were keeping watch outside his door. The King barely said a word to them but they all knew where he was going this morning, as he always did every morning; the first thing he would do, before even breaking his fast and immediately after he was presentable. When they arrived, the squires and Kingsguards restrained themselves from opening the door for the King, as they were supposed to, learning that the King preferred to knock and open this door himself. The Kingsguards turned and stood with their back to the door. The room was lit by the morning light that was streaming from the balcony through translucent curtains, stirring as a gentle breeze came. That was all the squires glimpsed before the handmaidens, two dark skinned, wearing dothraki garbs and one wearing foreign silk, left the room, the last one shutting the door behind her. They stood dutifully at the door, waiting for their King to re-emerge, as they did every morning since they began squiring for the King.

 

**_The King_ **

_She looked so beautiful._

It was the first thought that came to his mind every morning and night when he came and laid his eyes on her. She looked so small amidst large pillows and the red and black furs. He approached the bed, mildly aware of the handmaidens greeting him before taking their leave. The air in the room smelt lovely, like the flowers in the Royal Gardens in the thick of spring, and always reminded him of her. It stabbed at his heart and made his heart sing all the same.

He sat down beside her on the bed slowly and drew a shaky breath as an unbidden memory from years ago came to his mind; he had opened his eyes to see her perched on his bedside as he was now on hers. He remembered it vividly. Despite the sharp pain all over his body at that time, he remembered thinking she looked glorious in all of her beauty, her face marred only by that slight furrow between her brows as she had gazed worriedly at him.

He let a raspy breath loose as his hand covered hers which were placed over her stomach. He let his calloused thumb caress the back of her soft hand shortly before he clasped her hand with his. He hunched over her, pressing the back of her hand to his bearded cheek as he gazed upon her lovely face.

“Daenerys…” He whispered, “I dreamt of you again,” he was unfazed as her eyes remained closed and her face peaceful. He reached up with his other hand and stroked the silver hair by the side of her face gently, “do you dream of me?” he smiled as he felt her soft silver hair. Her hand was warm, warmer than years ago, when he last saw her beautiful lilac eyes. He felt his heart skip a beat as he even pondered that day; how cold her hands were, her tired eyes gazing up at him, her full lips in a small weak smile that she managed just for him.

He closed his eyes, revelling in the heat of her hand and her cheek under his fingers.

“Daenerys,” he turned and kissed the back of her hand, “my Queen,” he murmured into her hand, barely audible. He then gazed at her, for how long, he did not know.

Then the door creaked open and he blinked away some moisture that was gathering in his eyes before he turned to see Grand Maester Julian at the door, his chains clanking softly as he bowed to the King, “Your Grace,”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned back to gaze at the queen, “she’s getting better,” he whispered but he knew the Grand Maester could hear.

“I do not know your Grace, it is hard to tell without any-“

The King flushed just slightly, “she _is_ getting better,” turning his grey eyes on the Grand Maester. He had mistook that for a question.

“Yes, your Grace,” The Grand Maester bowed again hurriedly, anxious at having offended the King.

The King blinked, the flash of anger gone, “she’s warmer,” he remarked, his hand still clasping hers to his cheek. The Grand Maester remained quiet. He would know to be such; should have known. There was nothing the King was more concerned about than the Queen’s health, or rather, the Queen’s recovery. The King gazed intensely at the Queen for a few long minutes, as if committing her face to memory; as if he had not done so, having spent hours a day gazing at her and remembering her features so vividly that they burnt into his mind in his deepest dreams. The King then blinked and pressed a firm kiss to the palm of her hand before placing her hand back over her stomach gently, “she will wake, very soon. I know she will,” the King’s eyes never leaving the Queen, “I will be informed immediately when she does,”

“Of course your Grace,” Grand Maester Julian nodded.

“Thank you, Grand Maester,” The King turned to him, voice thick with sincerity. The King glanced back at the Queen one last time before he turned and walked briskly out the room. 

The squires immediately bowed when he emerged from the room, “your Grace, Lord Tyrion has invited you to break your morning fast with him in the Tower of the Hand before proceeding to the throne room for the morning court,”

The King nodded and walked ahead with his squires and the Kingsguard following close behind.

They left Maegor’s Holdfast and quickly arrived at the Tower of the Hand.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion smiled as he scooted off the chair at the table, wiping his mouth, “apologies for starting, I had an early start this day and was starving,”

The King huffed in amusement as he greeted the Lord Hand, “Good, as did I,” concurring with the ‘early start’ rather than the state of hunger.

“Early start meaning, unlike you, I actually usually wake after daybreak,” Tyrion japed before he paused and cocked his head in consideration at the King’s words, “good?”

The King nodded, “lets proceed to court,” he did not wait for the Lord Hand’s reply as he turned for the throne room. He was not feeling hungry that morning. His stomach had not stop churning from the nightmare he had that woke him before even the break of dawn. That and the motivation to get morning court over with was motivating enough to proceed with court.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the King sentenced the last man, who raped and murder a peasant girl in fleas bottom, to the wall. He was escorted away by the Unsullied and the King stood from the cold and hard throne, his lips a frown under his moustache as he straightened his stiff back.

He was just reaching up to remove his crown when he heard laughing, the patter of feet as well as an urgent but soft call, “Prince Jaehaerys, court is still-”

The King smiled as the source of the commotion appeared around the great doors of the throne room.

“Father!” his cherubic voice rang loudly through the throne room. Prince Jaehaerys, the third of his name, ran through the hall, as fast as his little legs would carry him. His head of curly silver hair streaming behind him and his grey eyes shining with joy, the King met his son at the bottom of the steps of the Iron Throne, not wanting his son to climb those dangerous steps. The wet nurse and the rest of the Unsullied guards who were guarding the Prince arrived at the door of the Throne Room just after the Prince came dashing in.

The King waved them away as he took the Prince into his arms, turning to walk up the steps to the Throne.

“Father, I couldn’t find you,” Prince Jaehaerys mumbled as he pressed his face into his father’s neck, his little hands touching his face. The King nuzzled his son gently, tickling him with his beard. Everyone in court could not help but smile as Prince Jaehaerys’ joyful innocent giggles filled the throne room. Prince Jaehaerys have always been happy, since he was a baby. His presence had undoubtedly lit up many gloomy atmosphere in the Red Keep, which seemed to be the natural state of the Red Keep, owing mostly to the King’s brooding nature.

“I was here, holding court. Do you know what that means?” The King asked, his dark eyes twinkling. The Prince shook his head. The King turned and went to the throne.

The King sat in the throne, placing Jaehaerys on his lap and the Prince beamed. He did love sitting on his father’s lap in the high chair, above everyone else; like how he always dreamt it would be like to be on dragon’s back. He was still too young to be brought on a flight on the dragons by his Father but Jaehaerys dreams and talks about it often enough.

“One day you will be King, Jaehaerys,” The King said to the Prince, pressing a kiss to the back his silver head, “and this is where you will rule, where you will listen to your people and protect them,” Jaehaerys turned, grinning at his father. The King sat in the throne with the Prince for a moment longer before the weight of duty became too heavy to ignore any further. Meeting Lord Tyrion’s eyes, the King sighed, sounding years older than his actual age, “Go with Jeyne,” the King stood and carried his son down the steps before handing him to his wet nurse, “I will be with you soon,”

Jaehaerys frowned as he shook his head, his little arms stubbornly clung around his Father’s neck but the King did not physically force him to let go, the Prince never was forced to do anything.

The King smiled, taking him back into his arms and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead, “be good, Jaehaerys. Go,” he pouted as he reluctantly released his Father and clung onto the wet nurse instead, watching as his Father smiled at him before turning away, attending his endless meetings he always seemed to be in.

 

_**Lord Hand of the King** _

“The handsome Prince grows strong,” Lord Tyrion remarked as he walked alongside the King to the small council meeting.

The edge of his lips twitched up in a hint of a smile of pride, “yes,”

“Stubborn too,” Tyrion added, “I wonder where he got that from?” he japed, looking purposefully at the King.

“Daenerys,” The King replied simply, shrugging in feign innocence. Tyrion stopped walking, surprised that the King would talk about the Queen voluntarily _and_ showed no signs of tenseness or sorrow or looked like he was about to cry. The King paused in his footsteps, realising his Hand was not beside him and turned to look. Their eyes met and Tyrion was almost bowled over when the King’s usually stern brooding face broke into a smile and then he barked a laugh. Tyrion laughed upon seeing that, appreciating the humour of the situation through his surprise.

“Oh he definitely has her temper,” Tyrion walked forward to stand before the King, “a true _dragon_ ,” he emphasised and the knowing look in his eyes made the King chuckle. 

“Have you been ‘burnt’ Lord Tyrion?” they turned and proceeded to the small council meeting.

“Multiple times when I tried to make him do as he was told,” Tyrion’s face scrunched as if he had tasted something awful.

The King huffed in amusement, “ _Dragons won’t be told,_ ” he declared, “that was what Jaehaerys told me when told him to listen to his wet nurse. Maybe I should tell Maester Samwell to teach humility in between the education of the Targaryen history,” he mused and Tyrion nodded sagely. They both chuckled as they entered the chambers. The small council members were all there, waiting for the King and the Hand, “apologies to keep you all waiting my Lords,” the King said as he settled into his chair at the head of the table.

The small council was at first appalled by the King’s overly kind words, apologising for slights on his part but eventually they got used to it and even came to appreciate some stark humility in the reigning monarch of the Seven Kingdoms. It has been a while since they saw that. They sat and listened as each small council members brought up matters that they deemed were of great importance and require a King’s attention; ranging from the cleanliness and organisation of Fleas Bottom (that the King insists he be duly informed of) to the disputes that rose among the Noble houses. Most were satisfied with the King’s rule which was fair and just but once in a while, arrangements would have to be made to appease the Noble houses who always seemed to be demanding to be held of higher regard by the crown than the next house. This was always an area the King seemed unable to understand, or rather refuse to yield in; appeasing the Lords of the Noble Houses.

The last matter was brought up by the Hand and it was the matter the King was always reluctant to pay any mind to; the proposed betrothals for the Crown Prince Jaehaerys III.

“I have already said, I will speak no more of any betrothals for the crown prince till he comes of age to have an opinion on the matter,” the King interrupted the Hand’s reports on the new proposals coming in.

“Your Grace, we need not decide on a betrothal for Prince Jaehaerys now but some consideration and attention have to be given to the matter eventually and it should be sooner than later-“

“Lord Tyrion, I will not force my son to marry someone he doesn’t know,” the King flared and Hand knew he could not hold his tongue when he knew the rest of the small council would in the face of the King’s imminent rage.

“It is not uncommon to form alliances with marriage, your Grace,” Tyrion said calmly, a meaningful look in his eyes.

“I know that,” The King replied, calm, “and I am not saying my son will not marry to form alliances but he would have a say in the matter. We will resume speaking about this when he is older. If that is all…” the King stood and the rest of the council stood as well. They bowed. The King nodded to them before marching out the room swiftly. They all knew where he would be going next; the King was predictable that way.

The small council began shuffling out of the room, “The King would be well served to have the Queen ruling beside him,” Tyrion looked up from the scroll to face the Master of Whisperers, Varys. There were the only two in the room.

“What do you mean?” Tyrion asked, turning back to his scroll.

“The Queen is Fire, the King is Ice,” Varys helped himself to the empty seat beside him, “Only one can temper the other. The King’s honour and tactlessness can be tempered only by the Queen’s prudence and practicality; necessary ruthlessness to an enemy, generosity for loyalty and appeasement of the Noble Lords, and in return, the Queen’s heavy handedness against even the slightest hint of treason can be tempered by the King’s distaste for killing,”

Tyrion reminded, “the King knows what has to be done. He was a capable Lord Commander of the Night’s watch and the King in the North,”

“But he is not doing ‘what must be done’ and being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and King in the North and King of the Seven Kingdoms are a different matter entirely,” Varys pointed out, matter-of-factly. Even Tyrion had to admit the Spider had a fair point. The Northerners have always been known for their bluntness that made them poor negotiators and in turn, terrible politician. “and the King has never been the same since the Great War,”

Tyrion sighed, “since the Queen…”

 

_**The King** _

The King knocked on the heavy wooden door, “Jaehaerys?” There was no reply and the King opened the door to see that the Prince’s room and nursery was empty. He turned to the nearest Unsullied who was keeping watch along the corridor of the Red Keep, “have you seen the Prince?” The King knew the Unsullied probably did not understand him but he asked nonetheless.

The Unsullied turned to him and replied, “ _Se dārilaros istan naejot se dāria_ ,”

The King did not understand most of what he said but he knew what dāria meant; _Queen._

The King nodded his thanks and headed straight for the Queen’s chambers, highly aware of his Kingsguard and squires close behind. It has been a long time but he could not rid himself of the uneasiness of being followed all the time.

As he approached the Queen’s chambers, he immediately knew his son was there merely judging from the small entourage of 3 outside the door. From the moment he learnt how to walk, at an early age, it was notoriously harder for a large escort to keep on the Prince’s heels so the King allocated two of his best Kingsguard to protect his son and 1 wet nurse who had been the Prince’s wet nurse since he had been born.

They bowed to the King and he acknowledged with a nod, “how long has the Prince been here?”

“Since he left the throne room your Grace,” the wet nurse replied. 

 The King knocked and entered. He turned and signalled his entourage to stay outside. He then closed the door behind him and quietly walked through the solar to the private chambers. In the room, the Queen’s hand maiden was nowhere to be found but the King was not surprised that the Prince had dismissed them. The King himself dismissed them to be alone with the Queen. The door to the private chambers was ajar. With one foot over the threshold, he paused, his breath caught in his throat. On the large bed in the middle of the room was the Queen, just as he left her this morning, regal and beautiful. On the side, the Prince was wearing the maroon doublet he was wearing this morning and he was curled up on the Queen’s side, his little head of silver on her abdomen as he slept.

The King could not help the wide smile that stretched his face till it almost hurt. He sat down gently beside the Prince, noticing how his small hand fisted the fur that covered his mother and his other hand holding hers firmly. He reached and gently stroked the back of the Prince’s downy head, “Jaehaerys,” he whispered. The Prince’s eyelid fluttered, his cheek pressed against his mother’s silk dress. In a second, his grey eyes were wide open as he turned to see his father beside him. Jaehaerys grinned toothily and hugged his father tightly around the waist, “I heard you have been here since the morning,”

Jaehaerys nodded, “I was bored and wanted to talk to Mother,” he then grinned as he looked upon his mother’s face. King watched lovingly as Jaehaerys reached out one small hand and stroked the Queen’s silver hair gently, as he saw the King did to her a few years back. The Prince had asked the King why and he had replied, _because I love your mother._ He watched with a fond smile as the Prince lay his head on his lap, one hand still holding his mother’s hand.

“Father, tell me a story about mother,”

The King looked down at the Prince’s face and could not refuse, “alright,” he pondered a second before he began, “On our journey to Winterfell, your mother has never seen snow before…”

By the end of the story, the sun was beginning to set and the King only realised the time when they heard a knock on the door. He took the Prince by his hand to bring him out into the solar and gave his consent for them to enter and the handmaidens of the Queen entered, bringing in supper for them. The King nodded his thanks, heartened as the Prince imitated his father, thanking the handmaidens formally.

They began their supper in comfortable silence.

“Father,” the Prince started and the King looked up, surprised to see the Prince hesitating before he continued, “why is Mother sleeping for such a long time?” The King tensed. The last time the Prince had asked, he was very young and had just started speaking. The King flew into rage then and commanded the wet nurse to remove the Prince before he could do or say something he would come to regret. After that, the Prince did not speak of it again. But the King knew, from the wet nurse, that there were only 2 things his son was obsessed about since he was a baby; Dragons and his Mother. It broke the King’s heart as he looked at the Prince, asking his father about his mother just as the King himself had asked his own, then, Lord Father.

At that thought, with a deep understanding for how the Prince must be feeling, desperate for anything anyone can tell him about his mother, the King decided to reply, “your Mother…” The King paused, staring at the stew in front of him. He turned when he felt a little hand on his. The Prince was standing in front of him, scrambling up onto his lap, burying his cherubic face into the King’s chest, “she was protecting… us. From monsters,” he tightened his arm around the Prince.

“Did Mother get hurt?” The Prince asked.

The King resolved to keep his expression even and strong for his son but felt a twitch, “yes. She got hurt and she couldn’t get better,” he glanced into the chambers to catch a glimpse of the Queen’s silver hair.

“Would Mother ever get better?” The Prince followed the King’s glance to look at the Queen, his wide grey eyes filling with tears. The Prince bit his lips, trying not to cry; _a dragon does not cry._ The King took his son’s face in his hands gently, guiding him to look at him.

“Yes, Jaehaerys,” The King told him, “your Mother is trying as hard as she can and we have to believe in her and give her strength,” The Prince sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand before nodding firmly.

* * *

 

**A/N I hope you guys enjoyed it! This story would mainly, and sadly, be my source of therapy that is needed from the angst of having wait 2 years for the next season. Hope you would like the story!**

**Oh and some of you may have read this as I have posted this up on fanfiction.net but am posting it here as I have received some requests from readers for me to put this up here :) the remaining chapters will be posted soon! So eventually this would be going at the same pace as the one on ff.**

**Thank you! Anyway, let me know what you think of this story so far :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_**The King** _

“Your Grace,” The King looked up to see Ser Jaime Lannister, a member of the Queensguard, standing at the ajar door. The King had never liked him; the oathbreaker. It was the Queen’s wishes that Ser Jaime fought alongside them during the Great War. He ended up being one of her protectors, alongside Jorah. The King never understood why she allowed it.

_He still remembered the fury that rose amongst the Northmen as Jaime Lannister rode himself to Winterfell, claiming to be here to aid in the Great War to come. There were numerous calls for Jaime’s head and while the King was seriously considering abiding by the wishes of his Lords, the Queen had ordered to have this matter convened away from the Northern Lords. The King did not know what he thought the Queen was thinking but everyone knew Ser Jaime Lannister killed her the Mad King; her father._

_The meeting was a flurry of scattered opinions as well. Both Tyrion and Varys thought Ser Jaime could be a valuable asset in the Great War. Jorah, when asked for an opinion by the Queen, told her the Kingslayer could not be trusted. Davos and Sansa strongly seconded that opinion. Then Brienne, who stood like a shadow by the door, spoke when the Queen, surprising Brienne and everyone else, seek her opinion. Brienne spoke of how Jaime Lannister had saved her life and honoured his vows to Catelyn Stark. When the Queen met his eyes over the table, the King told her the truth. Jaime Lannister is a good and seasoned commander in battle and would be an ally but he is Cersei Lannister’s most trusted advisor and lover and he is known an oathbreaker._

_Silence descended upon the meeting chambers as the Queen pondered over their council. Sansa had shot him a meaningful look, surprised and displeased that he would not say more as the King in the North but she knew he had pledged himself to the Queen. From that moment, until his last moment, she would be his Queen and he would not break his vows._

_“Bring the Kingslayer,” the Queen commanded. Brienne opened the door and he stepped in, flanked by a Dothraki and an Unsullied. Ser Jaime Lannister had looked around the room, as if trying to remember the men who probably had a part to play in sentencing his death. The King did not like the way his eyes lingered on the Queen, barely flinching under her unwavering stare, “everyone but the Kingslayer, leave this room,” the King balked, glimpsing everyone doing the same, even Tyrion._

_“Your Grace, let me stay to protect you,” Jorah spoke. Just then, a deafening screech and a roar sounded, shaking the very ground they stood on. Sansa, Brienne and Jaime glanced up to the ceiling, almost nervously as if they half expected Drogon and Rhaegal to cave them in and emerge. The dragons have been circling the castle since the Queen entered and they could not follow._

_The Queen gave Jorah a cold look, one that dared him to challenge her commands again. Then Jorah nodded stiffly, bowing as he left. The King watched as everyone stood to leave. He stared at Jaime Lannister, the man staring at the Queen, with an uncomfortable intensity before he turned to look at the Queen. He was the only one left who was asked to leave. The Queen tore her eyes from the Kingslayer and met his. She blinked slowly and it was all the assurance he knew he would get but he realised he did trust her, so he left. He closed the door behind him but his hand never left the handle, his other hand gripping the pommel of Longclaw so tightly he could feel the groove of it cutting into his palm._

_The King could not hear what was spoken, only murmurs through the heavy wooden door but when the Kingslayer emerged, he was escorted to his room. Since that day, they have never heard the Queen referring to him as the Kingslayer. She had always called him Ser Jaime. She asked for his counsel, when nobody else would take even a moment to seek his opinion, while they were planning the defence of Winterfell. She accepted his protection for the Great War when he offered it. He supped at her table in the great hall of Winterfell, under the hate-filled glare of the Northern Lords. The King could not remember seeing her without Ser Jaime since that day. He was almost her sworn sword, except he was not, yet. He stood by her as an equal, an ally. For the first time in a long time, the King in the North had felt jealousy rear its ugly head every time the Queen was seen speaking to Ser Jaime._

_After the war, the King could not bear to defy the Queen’s will, even in her ‘absence’, so the Kingslayer remained unharmed. Then the Kingslayer left as they began marching for the capital. He rode ahead to meet his sister and lover. He told Tyrion there were some things he ‘had to know’. The King had half expected to meet the Kingslayer on the battlefield when they approach King’s Landing. However, the doors to King’s Landing were wide open. The King himself had led his men into the capital, the Red Keep and the Throne Room. It was at the foot of the Iron Throne where they found the Kingslayer clutching Queen Cersei in his arms. She was limp and there was a pool of blood around them, flowing from the gaping stab wound in her abdomen. Then Kingslayer looked at the King, his red rimmed eyes, almost bloodshot. Without a word between the two, after Tyrion gave the King a meaningful look, the King rose those steps._

“The Hand requests an audience,” the Kingslayer said.

The King blinked and looked up as Tyrion rounded his brother, nodding to the King and the Prince as he approached with a message.

“A raven from the wall,” Tyrion handed it to him and the King read it. It was from Edd, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

“A false alarm,” the King said and the Hand heaved a sigh of relief. They have had word a few moons ago that there seemed to be movement further North that were not Wildling activity and that incited a bit of panic among them, the ones who were in the Great War and witnessed the massacre of living men by the dead. Since the King rose in power, he had sent many men who last served the Lannister or refused to bow to the new Queen to the Night’s Watch. With the wall destroyed, they would have to reinforce it with men, all the while trying to rebuild it.

Speaking of a need for celebration, the Hand then left with his brother in tow.

“Father, would you bring me to see the Dragons?” The Prince spoke up when the two left and the door closed.

The King turned to his son. He had not brought the Prince to the dragonpit. The Prince had only seen the dragons from afar as they flew over the city. The King did not think the Prince old enough or mature enough to practice common caution around such dangerous beasts. And with the Queen currently otherwise occupied, no one had true control over the dragons. Even the King’s relationship with the dragon he rode into battle; Rhaegal, was amicable at best. They had no love for him like they had for their Mother, especially not from Drogon. The Black Dragon had been in a constant state of rage since the end of the war. The King thought the dragon blamed himself for the Queen but the King had no way to comfort him apart from the little times the dragon was calm enough for the King to pet him a few times. But Drogon would not tolerate even that for long. If the dragons were to react badly to the Prince, the King was not sure he could protect the Prince.

“No, not yet,” The King leant forward and cupped his cheek, hoping to soothe the sting to rejection, “remember what I said, not until you are older,” _not even then if your mother does not wake and bring you herself._

The Prince pouted, “how much older?”

“When you’re old enough,” the King said with a smile and gently stroked his hair before gesturing for the wet nurse, “it’s late, go to bed and I will see you on the morrow,”

The Prince was still sulking as he kissed his father a good night on the cheek and went to his mother to do the same.

The King watched him leave, chuckling. He then stood, stretching his legs as he walked into the Queen’s chambers and sat by her side on the bed. He took her hand gently as he always did and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Her skin was getting warmer but not warm enough. He knew the Queen always ran hotter than common men, himself included. With her, when they touched, it was unusually warm not simply because he loved her so and her touch made his skin tingle and his heart pound but because she truly was a dragon; fire made flesh. And it was that that had protected her in the war and the King would forever be grateful for that for it saved her life and in turn, his as well.

“How did you know you were an Unburnt?” He asked her, watching her sleeping peacefully, “I do want Jaehaerys to meet Rhaegal and Drogon. It is his birthright after all but... what if he burned? Like I do,” He clenched his right hand into a fist, feeling the ropey and stiff scars on his hand where he was burned many years ago, “I would not be able to protect Jaehaerys without harming the dragons. Tell me what I should do, My Queen,” the King watched her, willing her to wake but she does not. She remains as she had been for the past 4 years, asleep, “tell me what I should do, what I _can_ do…”

He sighed deeply, feeling the air leaving his lungs in dejection as he leant forward and buried his face into the side of her face, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You’re so selfish,” he could not help himself as he muttered, feeling traitorous tears gather in his eyes, “this is _your_ throne, those are _your_ dragons, that is _your_ army and these are _your_ people. And it has all become mine and my burden to carry. _You_ are Queen. The people need you, Jaehaerys needs you, he loves you already and misses you. I need you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to her temple, “can you hear me?” he hated the way his voice wavered as he spoke, he hated his tears that came.

He had not cried since he was 8 when his Father, Ned Stark, told him men do not cry easily. So he did not. He had not shed a tear when he heard of his Father’s death or the death of his brothers. He had only felt rage. Even when Ygritte passed, it hurt but his eyes were dry.

 “I have something to tell you… but you have to wake up before I can,” he told her, placing his other hand on the other side of her cheek as he turned her to face him, “I want to look into your eyes when I tell you. Please wake up… please…” as his tears dried, he felt a feeling of fatigue wash over him and tug on his heavy eyelids.

He jolted awake, not knowing at first what woke him. He had fallen asleep by the Queen, his head on her pillow beside hers, his hand in hers and another on her cheek. He sat up, wiping dried tear streaks from the edge of his eyes. Then he heard it, a roar that thundered and seemingly shook the castle. He turned to gaze at the Queen before he ran from the room, throwing open the door. Turning to the first Kingsguard member standing watch outside, he asked, “what happened?”

“I-I don’t know, your Grace,” the Kingsguard’s eyes were wide behind his helmet as another roar shook the castle. The King turned and ran to the stables, leaving his Kingsguards running to catch up behind him. He grabbed the reins of the first horse he sees and coax it out of the stable quickly before mounting it and riding towards the dragonpit.

It was almost pitch dark but another roar from the dragons made the King spurred the horse faster, knowing the route to the dragonpit even in the dark. When he reached the dragonpit, he could barely make out the outline of the Unsullied soldiers who protected the dragons and the pit in the dark.

“Who is there?”

The King almost sighed in relief as he heard that voice, “Greyworm,” he replied and dismounted quickly. He could see the outline of the Unsullied before him bow but before he could be greeted, the King demanded, “what happened?”

“The Prince is in there!” a familiar voice cried, the wet nurse.

The King felt his eyes grew wider. He did not have the time to reprimand her as he raced to the door of the dragonpit. It was ajar but not wide enough for him; _wide enough for the prince._ He shoved the door open roughly and ran into the blackness inside. Suddenly acutely aware of the danger he was in, he stilled. It was quiet and pitch black. He could hear his own breathing. Then another’s.

He was momentarily blinded as flames burst forth into the darkness. He could feel the dragonfire lick at his skin, threatening to burn but not yet.

“Jaehaerys!” The King shouted.

“Father!”

The King’s eyes adjusted and they widened as he saw the Prince, mounted on Drogon, clinging onto two sharp spikes on the dragon’s back. The black dragon was furious. Flames were rolling and flickering around in its ajar mouth as it snarled and turned its great head as if to reach the Prince on its back. The dragon’s magma eyes were flashing with rage. _A dragon would only take 1 rider. For as long as that rider lives, the dragon will tolerate no other._ The voice was familiar and assuring, as if she was right beside him.

“Father!” Jaehaerys cried as Drogon snapped around to reach him swiftly, almost jerking the Prince off his back.

“Drogon!” The King approached, shouting as he looked up at the snarling black dragon. Drogon stopped flailing and stared straight at the King, flames still rolling about in its mouth. The King glanced at the Prince nervously, fearful for the life of his son. Drogon roared, shaking its great scaly body, trying to fling the occupant on its back off no doubt. _Courage, you use courage to command a dragon. If the dragon senses fear, they will not follow you much less let you ride them. They could kill you._

The King remembered the words from a distant memory too late. Suddenly, Drogon let loose a fearsome roar, shaking the ground. The King watched in horror as Drogon reared on its legs, its wings spread. The King rushed forward recklessly, knowing what would happen next. Drogon sprung off using its legs and with a great flap of its wings, lifted into the air. The King was thrown back by the gust of wing stirred by Drogon’s wings. He hit the ground, hard, winded. He groaned as he looked up to see Drogon circling the dragonpit, Jaehaerys on his back, clutching the two spikes, “don’t let go, Jaehaerys!”

Drogon then screeched and let loose a stream of dark red flames, almost black, on the rounded roof of the Dragonpit. The King watched in disbelief as the stones turned red, almost turning to molten under Drogon’s fire. Then without warning, Drogon roared and flew straight through the hot stones and its own fire.

“No! Jaehaerys!” it did not sound like his own voice. The dragon emerged from burnt flyaway stones and fire, seemingly unharmed. Then the dragon was gone. Jaehaerys was gone… “Rhaegal!” The King called as he ran to the green dragon who was watching him cautiously. The King had only rode Rhaegal 3 times during the war and in two of those times, the Queen was watching very closely and assuring Rhaegal. The third was in the heat of battle. He approached, throwing all caution and fear to the wind as he touched the green dragon’s snout. Rhaegal did not breathe fire on him or snap at him so the King ran to its side and climbed up onto its back.

Finding the almost familiar spot amongst the sharp spikes on Rhaegal’s back, the King sat and clutched two spikes in front of him, “ _sōves_ ,” Rhaegal roared and took to the air. The King braced himself as Rhaegal flew them through the gaping and melted hole in the ceiling of the dragonpit. He ducked and pressed himself as flat on Rhaegal as he could. Regardless, he cried out as he was scorched by the heat from the stones, even without touching them but then the heat was gone and he was soaring through the night air. He glanced down, sure his shoulder and all of his back would be blistering, “find Drogon,” he told Rhaegal, not sure if the dragon understood the common tongue. Tyrion always said they were intelligent but the King had always spoken to them in the limited High Valyrian the Queen taught him.

Rhaegal screeched and tilted in the night air. He could feel them get higher. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the black outline in front of them.

“Drogon!” The King shouted, “ _naejot tegun_! (To land!)” the black dragon continued flying, breathing fire into the night sky as if it did not hear him so the King did what he could, following. He could not see or hear Jaehaerys from where he was. For all he knew, Jaehaerys could be hurt or dead, from the fire. Or maybe he had fallen, laying somewhere in King’s Landing, his little body broken against the stones. All because his father was not there to catch him.

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**Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! I'm glad you all enjoyed the first chapter.** **I hope you enjoyed this one as well; a little Jaime and some of dragon action ;)**

**Just to clarify again, I will be posting the story here till it is up to date with the one on ff.net so that people who prefer to read it here can do so :)**

**Do leave me a comment to let me know what you think of this chapter! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**_Jorah_ **

His legs were cramping, his lower back ached badly and his fingers were cramping as well from gripping the pommel but he stood as straight as an arrow with his chest out all the same, his eyes wide open and his mind sharp for any form of disturbances. Then he turned and opened the door to the chambers quietly.

The King had left in a hurry after hearing the dragons’ roar. They sounded furious. Jorah had not heard them like that since the Great War. The roaring had stopped for a while and Jorah hoped whatever it was, it would not be cause for too much panic among the smallfolk. The last thing they needed now is a riot.

The solar was dimly lit by two candles. The table in the middle was empty, cleaned up by the handmaiden who also came in to feed the Queen honey and milk. They did so frequently to ensure she did not starve. The healers from Essos was also summoned by the King to heal the Queen. They came immediately when they heard; most of them owed her their lives. They could not heal her. But they kept her alive, using multiple equipment to give the Queen sustenance.

He made his usual round around the large solar, pulling aside curtains to check behind them and checking the windows. Then he went to her private chambers. He opened the door quietly. He was supposed to check the balcony but he went to her bedside instead. He did not dare sit by her side so he knelt. Even ill, she looked beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen and will ever see. His cramped fingers twitched to touch her face but he dared not. He was but merely her Queensguard and old. He did not deserve her.

Sighing, he stood, almost losing his footing as his calf cramped badly. He grunted, holding the side table to steady himself. He checked the balcony and it was quiet and there was no one. Then a great light, almost blinding him, shone from a distance. He squinted, knowing it was coming from the dragonpit. Then he heard a loud crash as fire poured forth from the top of the dragonpit and into the night sky. A roar. The dark fire dispersed and a black dragon, almost invisible against the night sky, burst forth from it.

“ _Jaehaerys_ ,”  

Jorah jumped. It was just a whisper but he heard it. Her voice. It sounded like the sweet sound of a harp to his ears. He froze. Turning, not daring to even begin to hope. She was lying in bed, her eyes still closed. She seemed not to have moved. Jorah shook his head. He missed her too much.

Then Jorah startled again as another roar was heard, he turned to see the green dragon emerging from the dragonpit and taking flight, flying after the black dragon who was spewing angry flames into the sky as he roared in rage.

“JON!”

He spun around and stared. The Queen was still lying in bed but her eyes were wide open in horror, glazed over as if she was seeing something faraway.

“ _Khaleesi,_ ” he breathed out, still not daring to believe as he rushed to her side. He could not stop himself as he hunched over her and cupped her sweet face in his large hands.

Her widened lilac eyes seemed lost for a moment as they returned to see what was in front of her. He thought his heart might stop when they locked with his.

“Ser Jorah,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her face was curiously serene as her eyes took him in and he fell in love with her all over again. For a moment, he dared to entertain the thought, a dream, that she could be his and he could be hers. But as quickly as he thought it, it was gone, shattered by another roar. Her face contorted in worry as she looked around the room, “Jon…”

To his alarm, she reached for the furs covering her with a shaking hand and threw them aside. Jorah averted his eyes when he glimpsed her smallclothes under the sheer silk sleepwear, “Khaleesi, you are too weak to walk,” he held her arm as she moved out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold stones. She was already panting from the effort to do just that.

“No,” she told him, her face contorting with effort as she stood, “Jon needs me,” she learnt heavily on his arm as her legs folded under her.

He grunted, placing a mail clad arm under her knees and another across her back, bringing her into his arms. She was light, almost weighing nothing more than a stack of fabric in his arms.

“Jon,” she breathed, “take me to him,” behind her thin wavering voice, Jorah could hear the steel of the Queen he knew and he obeyed. He ran as quickly as he can down the hallways with the Queen in his arms. He ran down the steps and burst out into the yard, heading for the stables. He placed her gently on the ground, letting her lean up against the stable wall as he quickly chose a strong black destrier. He reached for the saddle but the Queen protested, “no, there’s no time for that. Quickly,”

The panic and fear in her beautiful lilac eyes was palpable even from a distance. He took her in his arms again and as gently as he can, helped her on the horse. He himself scrambled on behind her. He took the reins around her and snapped it. The destrier whinnied and took off.

“Quickly,” she whispered. She was leaning heavily on his chest, her breaths shallow. Her silver hair snapped in the wind. He could smell her sweet scent that he had come to recognise as hers from their time together.

They arrived at the dragonpit and all the Unsullied spun around, their spears and shields ready for battle. But then they saw the Queen, pale in the night, her silver hair almost glowing as the clouds shifted to reveal the moon. They dropped to their knees, “ _Ñuha dāria_ (My queen),” 

Jorah dismounted and helped her down.

“Drogon!”

A beat of silence.

A roar answered.

“ _Khaleesi_ ,” Jorah approached her, worried as she swayed. She raised a surprisingly firm hand, stopping him.

“Move away,” she said and the soldiers scrambled to obey but Jorah hesitated. She looked back to meet his eyes, assuring him, and he felt a surge of trust for her as he obeyed, shifting back till he was in the darkness of the trees with the rest of the Unsullied.

He tensed as a roar sounded again, closer this time. He did not need to look up to know the black dragon had arrived. His large wingspan blocked out the moonlight, plunging them into darkness. The ground shook as the black dragon landed on the dragonpit. The Queen looked in awe of the black dragon; awe but never fear. The dragons have grown significantly since the War, since she last saw them. Drogon was now so large he plunged cities into darkness if he flew low overhead.  

“Drogon,” she said. The black dragon’s molten coloured eyes were watching her almost cautiously. She raised a hand to him, willing him to come close to her and he does, shifting his great head down, closer to her. Jorah clutched the pommel of his sword. To the Queen, the dragon would never hurt her for she was their mother but the dragons were beasts, they were unpredictable and with a sweep of their wing, they could dash her against the rock and kill her. And he had been ordered to watch, “ _Drōgon,_ _iksan aōha muña, ȳdra daor ao gīmigon nyke?_ (Drogon, I am your mother, don’t you know me?)”

The dragon came closer to her, his great scaly snout an inch from her outstretched hand. It seemed to take a whiff and then it screeched suddenly. Before anyone could do anything, the dragon reared back its head and hot flames poured from its mouth, straight to the Queen.

“DAENAERYS!” A shout from the skies made Jorah looked up to see a green dragon approaching from the skies. The green dragon roared.

The Queen stood her ground and Jorah watched, wide eyed as the flames hit the ground around her feet and turning the ground red and on fire in an instant. The flames seemed to dance around her, licking and kissing her skin, burning away her gown and smallclothes quickly. She closed her eyes for a moment, seemingly revelling the heat rather than burning from it. No matter how many times Jorah were to witness this, his heart would always pound in worry for her and he would always be in awe when she emerged, entirely unhurt. The flames were beginning to burn the trees surrounding the dragonpit as well and the soldiers and himself shifted to get further from the heat. It was blistering.

“ _Drōgon daor! Keligon!_ (Drogon, no! Stop!)” she shouted over the screech of the dragon. Drogon stopped spewing fire then. Then Rhaegal landed beside Drogon on the dragonpit. To his surprise, Rhaegal snapped his jaws at Drogon fiercely but the black dragon ignored his brother as it watched the Queen, “ _Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha riña,_ (I am sorry, my child)” a growl rumbled in the throat of the black dragon, “ _Nyke gōntan daor nūmāzma naejot henujagon ao,_ yn iksan kesīr sir (I did not mean to leave you but I am here now),” she reached out again, shushing the dragon gently as it let her touch it on the side of its snout. It blinked its great eyes as it looked at the Queen, each eye the size of the Queen’s torso now. A soft noise rumbled in the dragon’s throat as her touch roamed over its snout and under its eye. The Queen pressed her body to its snout, holding the dragon’s gaze.  

“ _Muña_! (Mother!)” A child’s cry sounded from atop Drogon’s back. The Queen stiffened. She looked up from Drogon’s eyes slowly, almost in disbelief. The Prince’s cherubic face came into view as Drogon shifted its head down to touch her body with its snout, almost a nudge. The Prince’s clothes were entirely burned away and his body was covered in dark soot from head to toe but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

“ _Drōgon, dekuragon ilagon_ (Drogon, step down),” The Queen said, her eyes fixed on the Prince. The dragon obliged, snorting as the Queen stepped back to allow it the space to step down from atop the dragonpit. When it did, the Queen smiled, at the dragon. Her hand trailed from its snout, to under its eye and all the way down its long large neck as she walked to its wings. She looked up at the Prince atop the dragon.

“ _Muña_! (Mother!)” The Prince cried as he scrambled to dismount the dragon and go to the Queen. Drogon, remembering from when the Queen herself used to ride it, lowered its body to the ground as much as it can, its underbody flushed against the dirt. The Queen stepped onto Drogon’s feet and used it to step onto a spike on his side, proceeding to climb to meet her child.  

“ _paez, ñuha riña_ (slowly, my child),” The Queen said gently. The Prince climbed down until finally, the Queen plucked him off Drogon and into her arms. She held her son against her naked form firmly, leaning on the wing of Drogon for support. The Prince clung onto his mother, his little arms and legs wrapped around his mother’s neck and waist.

The King dismounted the green dragon gingerly, limping towards the black dragon. His top was entirely singed and burned away, leaving his top bare. Over the expanse of the King’s back and shoulders were blistering burns where blood seeped from, “Daenerys,” he said, looking up at his wife and child. Jorah felt a familiar twinge as he watched the Queen turn. Since Drogo, he had never seen her look at another man in that manner and no matter how hard he prayed, not even at him.

Her beautiful eyes filled with tears as she stepped down from Drogon carefully, the Prince still clung to her firmly. The dragon was absolutely still as the Queen stepped down, unstable and swaying on her feet. Jorah took a step forward to help but the King was nearer to her. He watched as the King embraced both his son and his Queen, a moment later, withdrawing only to press a kiss to the Queen’s lips. Jorah closed his eyes momentarily, the twinge in his chest returning with a vengeance.

“Jon…” he heard the Queen breathe the King’s name and he opened his eyes only to see the Queen gaze up at the King, a gaze filled with love and wonder. Then the Prince stirred, murmuring for his mother. She looked down at the Prince, tears welling up in her eyes and she gently brought a hand to the Prince’s soot covered cheek and cupped it gently.

“ _Muña,_ ” Jaehaerys looked up at her, his grey eyes solemn. Jorah watched a tear fall from the edge of her eye, trailing its way down her cheek.

“My Queen,” The King caught the single tear on the crook of his finger, gently tilting her face up by her chin. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Jorah approached then, noticing that her face was getting paler and her eyes were getting heavier, “ _Khaleesi_ , you need to rest now,” he could not bring himself to regret interrupting them. The King was suddenly conscious of the Queen’s state of undress and tilted his body to shield her from the eyes of the soldiers but Jorah could not help but feel the King was shielding her from him; the rest of the men were Unsullied after all. Jorah reached around himself and yanked the white cloak of the Queensguard off his back. As he stepped forward and made to drape the cloak on the Queen, he was stopped by the King.

The King’s hand upturned, outstretched in front of him, blocking him from approaching the Queen. He met the King’s eyes and they locked into a stare that he knew was a moment too long, bordering on insolence. Eventually, Jorah yielded, blinked and pressed his cloak into the King’s expectant hand, bowing. The King opened the cloak and draped the cloak around the Queen firmly. The King then made to take the Prince from her but the Prince would have none of it.

“No!” the Prince’s protest was surprisingly aggressive as he clung onto his mother. The Queen shook her head at the King, her arms tightening around the Prince, cradling him to her.

“ _Rhaīgal naejot nyke_ , (Rhaegal, to me)” The King called and the green dragon approached, lowering its body to the ground. The King climbed up its back, turning to pull the Queen and the Prince up. Jorah watch the Queen take her place in front of the King, his arms on either side of her, clutching the green dragon’s spikes.

“ _Sōves_ ,”

“ _Sōves_ ,”

The Queen and the King said together, their voice almost in perfect harmony. Looking at each other in surprise, they laughed. Their laughter carried away by the wind as Rhaegal screeched and took off into the sky. Jorah watched them leave, feeling the ache in his chest. The Targaryens were finally together again. _They belong together_.

Turning, he led the destrier back to the Red Keep on foot alone.

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A/N: All Jorah this chapter! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! And...the Queen is awake! Do leave me a comment and tell me what you think! :) 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_**Jon** _

His Queen was beautiful. He thought as he felt the cold wind hit his face. The Queen’s beautiful silver hair was streaming behind her and he rested his head by his chin on her shoulder. She smelt like soot and smoke from Drogon’s fire but underneath it, he could smell the sweet fragrance of flowers that she seemed to carry with her wherever she went.

“Beautiful,” he pressed a kiss to her shoulder but he winced as he felt more bone than flesh under his lips. He was planning what he would have the handmaidens give to the Queen for her supper and all her meals thereafter when he heard her beautiful voice, a sound he had longed to hear every day for the last 4 years.

“Jon,”

His name sounded strange. No one had called him that since Sansa and Arya left King’s Landing for the North. Since that, the only time he had heard his name, without the embellishment of King, was in the form of words; letters from Winterfell. He did not realised how much he missed it terribly, especially when it came off her tongue like that, wrapped in love and longing.

“Jon,” He blinked, coming back to himself to see her looking at him, a deep lovely blush on her cheeks, “you’re staring, again,” she accused.

It had been something she had teased him about since the night they consummated their love on their journey to White Harbour. After that night, he did not hide his longing for her from her anymore; for she had seen it all in his eyes the night of their lovemaking. Whenever he thought no one was looking, he would indulge himself and gaze at her to his fill. The Queen was not a modest woman and it took a lot to make her even avert her eyes in shyness so it secretly delighted him when his gaze could make her blush.

He smiled at her, expectantly, “how long have I been asleep?” she asked as she gazed down at the Prince in her arms, looking lost; probably in awe at how big her son apparently was already. The Prince was lightly snoozing in his mother’s arms.

“4 years,” he replied.

He felt her body stiffen against his, “4… _years_ …” she breathed out in disbelief and a flash of despair. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he rushed to assure her, his heart stuttering to see her even slightly upset, “you’re here now and that’s what is important to me…and Jaehaerys. He knows you,”

“How?” she looked up at him, looking to be in disbelief that her son would even recognise her, much less be willing to sleep in her arms and refuse to leave.

He smiled, “he was with you every day. He talked to you, held your hand and kissed you. Every day in those 4 years,”

Her breath caught in her chest and she looked at him. Something looked to be on the tip of her tongue but she does not speak her mind.

He learnt forward suddenly, pecking her on her nose. She drew back in surprise. He laughed but she only smiled and he turned solemn, “what is it?”

She chewed her lips thoughtfully, suddenly looking very young and uncertain “did- did you?”

“What?” He asked.

“Talk to me, hold my hand and kiss me,” she looked at him, as if suddenly afraid to hear the answer and regretting having asked.

He felt his stomach twist at the hesitation on her face; the doubt. Her suspicion that he might have another wife, another woman he loved or even simply that he had forgotten her and had left her alone with her son for the past 4 years. He pressed a kiss over her eyelid, “everyday,” he whispered.

They approached the Red Keep then, Rhaegal landing atop Maegor’s Holdfast. He let her guide Rhaegal in High Valyrian, he himself not knowing most of the words she used. He loved hearing her speak High Valyrian, there was a certain lilt in her voice he could not name. He had heard her speak High Valyrian lovingly and use it to command legions. He loved how she sounded all the same.

Rhaegal treaded over the castle, letting them down just atop her balcony and they climbed down into the balcony. He landed particular heavily as he leaped off the parapet. Pain shot up his back and he gasped out, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He could feel the burns on his back cracking open and hot blood leaked out and dripped, red and hot on the concrete of the balcony.

“Your burns,” she turned when she heard him gasp, “Guards!” she shouted, her voice cracking. The Prince stirred in her arms but remained stubbornly asleep.

The door open and Unsullied shuffled to their Queen hurriedly, dropping to their knees.

“ _Maghagon se Giēñatī! se dārys iksis ōdrikagon_ (Bring the Maester! The King is hurt),” she commanded. He could hear the Unsullied dashing out of the room to do as she ordered. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself to his feet. He glimpsed her going to the bed and placing the Prince upon it gently, struggling with the Prince’s strong grip around her for a moment before she managed. She then came to him, holding him by his lower arm as she helped him as much as she can to bed. But he did not lean on her, he did not want to burden her. She was wobbly on her own feet.

“Is it bad?” He asked through gritted teeth as he glimpsed her looking at his burns.

“How did you get burned?” She asked instead.

He gritted his teeth through the pain as she helped him sit. He could not believe he did not feel the pain from just after his burn till now. He imagined he must not have noticed it, seeing Daenerys, truly alive again. He replied her when the pain subsided somehow once he stopped moving, “Drogon burned his way through the dragonpit. I followed him through on Rhaegal,”

“You shouldn’t have,” she shook her head, looking at the burns on his back.

He looked at her, waiting for her to catch his gaze before he replied, “Drogon had _our_ son. I couldn’t let anything happen to him,” he said, “Our son was all I had left of you at the time…” he took her hand, dropping his gaze, “I didn’t know when you would wake, or if you ever would. No one knew,” he leant his forehead against her abdomen.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked quietly, her voice curiously calm for a question of this manner, “If I were to never wake…”

He was horrified, “Even if I thought it,” his brows furrowed deeply as he even pondered such an unthinkable thought, “ _I_ could never do it. Not to you, not to the woman I love with all my heart. Daenerys, it would kill me too,” he looked up at her, the agony palpable in his eyes.

She blinked back her tears, “I do not deserve you,” she knelt and cupped his face in her hands gently.

“You do-“

“No,” she choked out, “you don’t know, I loved my _Khal_ and I killed him,”

He blinked, unwittingly withdrawing, “what are you talking about?”

“I told you about the witch,” she was not looking at him.

“The one who murdered your husband,” he recalled.

She nodded, remembering her own words to him. It felt like only yesterday that she said it to him, “he was… barely alive. A little more than a corpse. He was just a shadow of someone he once was, someone I loved. So I killed him.”

He was shaken. He had heard from Tyrion how Daenerys had burned the Tarlys alive for not bending the knee but since the time he knew her, he knew her for her good heart, her fairness, her bravery and her selflessness for her people. He did not think the Daenerys he knew could kill a man she loved. He suddenly felt like he did not know her and it was a terrifying thing to feel, when his heart still beat only for her.

“Jon…” she finally looked at him but then there was a knock on the door. He watched her wear the mask of a Queen as easily as someone wore clothes. She stood, “enter,”

Grand Maester Julian shuffled in, his chains clinking softly with Samwell Tarly on his heel. The Grand Maester’s eyes widened as he saw the Queen, as did Samwell’s. They both bowed deeply, “your Graces,” they greeted.

“Approach, quickly, the King needs treatment,” she commanded, stepping aside as the Grand Maester approached the King to look at the burns on his back while Samwell Tarly positioned the trolley laden with equipment by the bed.

She watched them work, her hands clasped before her. She looked regal and glorious, even with soot on her face and hair and being bare underneath the thick white cloak. She did not notice him looking at her. She was staring anxiously as the Grand Maester worked at his burns.

He groaned loudly as his burns were prodded and more blood seeped out. He watched Daenerys’ lips pinched into a thin line, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white and her eyebrows rose ever so slightly when she heard his groan of pain. When the Grand Maester poured a sour smelling liquid over his burns, he howled, feeling like his back was set alight once more.

“Grand Maester, please,” Daenerys pleaded but only he seemed to see the plea, in her eyes and in the slightly raised brows, worried. Outwardly, she looked a Queen, commanding the Grand Maester to heal the King with a gentle touch.

“We have to disinfect the wound, your Grace, the pain is unfortunate but unavoidable,” Grand Maester Julian replied, glancing at the King’s face apologetically.

“Give him milk of the poppy,” she countered, looking calm but Jon could see she was anything but.

“No,” he croaked out. _I need to see you._ The furrows between her brows deepened as he swallowed a groan while the Maester poured the sour smelling liquid over his back. All the while, she watched the Maester work closely, her eyes flashing whenever he hurt and blood seeped from the burns, while he watched her, drawing strength that was more than enough for him to tide over this. _He have had worse after all._

As the Grand Maester pressed a white dressing over the last patch of charred flesh, the King gritted his teeth against the pain and the Queen approached.

“This will scar, your Grace,” Grand Maester informed the King. He shook his head. He already had a collection of them.

“This is good work, Grand Maester,” the Queen said and he bowed deeply at the compliment. They watched as Samwell left potions for him by the bed. Samwell averted the Queen’s eyes as they both bowed and made to leave.

“Wait,” Jon spoke. At Daenerys’ questioning look, he continued, “let them have a look at you,” she looked like she would object but at the pleading look he sent her way. She pursed her lips and nodded, resigned.

The Grand Maester asked her a few questions and felt the inside of her wrist before he bowed speaking, “Your Grace seems well and fully recovered. It seems much rest is still needed to regain the strength that you previously have,” he told them and the King sighed in relief visibly, “this is a miracle by the Gods, truly,”

“I know,” he whispered a reply as he gazed at her. He had never thought she would survive and he was a man brought back from the dead, “Thank you Grand Maester,” Daenerys held Jon’s gaze, both of them mildly aware of the both Maester bowing and leaving quietly. The door clicked shut and he thought she would approach him but she does not. She stood just out of arms’ length, gazing longingly at him and he looked at her, puzzled, “come here,” he requested quietly.

To his surprise, she averted his eyes, “how can you want me after what I told you?”

“I just do,” he replied simply, gingerly lifting his hand, palm up towards her. She looked at his hand, hesitant. Eventually, she placed her hand in his and took a step towards him. She sat beside him on the bed, opening his hand and pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand and closed her eyes, “I need you, Daenerys,” her cheek was burning against his palm. After years of feeling ice cold alabaster skin under his fingers, he knew he would forever treasure the intense warmth of her body.

She did not reply and he thought for a moment she had fallen asleep or had not heard him but she spoke softly, “I dreamt of you,”

He was surprised, “did you?” he asked curiously.

“Yes. You told me you had something to tell me. It seemed important but when I asked, you seemed to not have heard me,” she opened her eyes as she told him.

He blinked and gaped, “I…I did have something to tell you but I told I would only tell you if you woke,”

She stared at him, “my dreams… were they real?”

He did not know how to answer that but he felt a sense of relief wash over him, washing away all the loneliness he felt in the past years. She had been there every step of the way with him, in her own way; the only way she could at that time, “I don’t know but… I do know that Daenerys Targaryen, I love you.”

She froze. Then her lips curved into a smile, leaning closer to him, “ _Ānogar ānograro, Avy jorrāelan_ (blood of my blood, I love you),” her lips were almost upon his as she whispered in a foreign language he did not understand.

At first he smiled, smitten by the way the words sounded as it came off her tongue fluently. Then when he realised he had not understood a word, he frowned, utterly lost, “what?” she laughed and despite himself, he could not stop smiling, “what does it mean? Tell me,”  

“I love you,” they startled as a soft voice sounded between and behind them. They turned, Jon wincing as the skin on his back stretched.

Their son, naked as his name day if not for the fur over him, was sat up in bed as he looked up at them innocently. His grey eyes wide awake

“What did you say, Jaehaerys?” Jon asked. He glimpsed Daenerys blinking and looking away, seeming uncharacteristically shy. He wondered why.

“Mother said she love you, Father,” Jaehaerys replied simply and realisation bloomed in his chest, along with a warmth he had not felt in a long time, “I don’t understand the first words,” he turned to his mother.

Daenerys smiled at her son, seeming to pointedly avoid Jon’s eyes in embarrassment that she was caught out on her little tease, “where did you learn High Valyrian?”

“ _Iksan se ānogar hen uēpa Valyria, Valyrio muña ēngos ñuha iksis_ , (I am the blood of Old Valyria. High Valyrian is my mother tongue)” he said fluently and Daenerys blinked, evidently surprised.

“Who taught you that?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone as she stroked his cheek. When he bit his tongue and did not reply, mischief twinkling in his grey eyes as he kept his little secret. Daenerys narrowed her eyes feigning to be deep in thought, humouring the young Prince, “where is Missandei?”

Jon chuckled as his son’s eyes widened in awe at his mother, “How did you know?”

“My sweet child, Missandei taught you what I had said. A few years ago, from when before you were born,” Daenerys mused. Jon smiled as the awe in Jaehaerys’ eyes grew. He’d bet his son suddenly found his lessons more interesting than he had previously.

Then Jaehaerys frowned, looking at his father, confused and he turned to his mother, “But Mother…” Daenerys made a vague sound of question and Jaehaerys continued, “ _Iksis kepa daor se ānogar hen uēpa Valyria? Skoro syt gaomas ziry daor gīmigon Valyrio Eglie_? (Is Father not of the blood of Old Valyria? Why does he not know High Valyrian?)”

Jon was confused as Daenerys looked at him as well before she laughed and Jaehaerys, seeing her laugh, giggled as well. He smiled at the sight of their amusement but then frowned as he couldn’t help the feeling that they were laughing _at_ him.

Later, Jon called in the handmaidens and had them draw a bath for the Queen and the Prince. He smiled as Daenerys embraced her dothraki handmaidens and Missandei before they left to fetch hot water and clothes for them.

He watched as Daenerys brought Jaehaerys for his bath. Jaehaerys giggled loudly as Daenerys scooped some water over his hair, washing the soot from it. Grinning, Jaehaerys started splashing the bath water at his mother as he always did to his wet nurse. Jon watched amused as a large amount of bath water drenched Daenerys over her hair and her face. She blinked in surprise for a moment and Jaehaerys paused, unsure if he had made his Mother angry. But then Daenerys laughed, scooping the water in her hands and splashing them over Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys giggled loudly. By the end, there was more water on the floor outside the tub than in it. Daenerys rose from the tub, carrying her son out with her.

Jon made to help her but instead groaned when he tried to stand. He looked up to see Daenerys shake her head, telling him to stay put. Then handmaidens came forward and dried them.

“Would you like the wet nurse to bring the Prince back to his room your Grace?” Missandei asked as she draped a silk night dress over the Queen’s naked form and the King could not help but feel a tinge of disappointment as Missandei closed the nightdress over the Queen’s front and tied the sash around her waist.

“No!” Prince Jaehaerys heard and ran from where the Dothraki handmaidens were fastening his nightwear over him to his mother. He threw his arms around his mother and held her firmly, “don’t send me away, Muña, kostilus (please)! I want to stay with you.”

Hurt flashed over Daenerys’ face as she lowered herself to look the Prince in the eye, cradling his little face in her hands, “I will not send you away,” she looked at Missandei, “the Prince will sleep here tonight,” Missandei nodded.

Before long, the handmaidens had cleared the bath and left the royal family in the Queen’s chambers. The three of them were snuggled under the furs. The Prince was asleep as soon as he hit the pillows. He had turned and buried his small form into his Mother, hugging her tightly with both his legs and his arms.

He smiled and shifted to make himself comfortable but he grimaced as the fur touched his back.

Daenerys opened her eyes quickly at his sharp hiss. He had thought she was asleep, “is everything okay?” she whispered.

“It will be,” he replied, his smile tight as he waited for the pain to ebb away. The worried folds between her brows did not subside. He reached for her, over their sleeping son. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her knuckles, “Daenerys, I might not know all of your past and what you have done but I have loved you. And even after what you told me, I still do,”

She managed a small sad smile, “Jon Snow, you did turn out to be quite a man,” he raised his brows questioningly but she chuckled and instead, fingered the rough stubble over his cheek fondly. She pressed a kiss to the top of her son’s head and closed her eyes to sleep.

He watched her till her breathing slowed and became even; till she slept.

Then a sudden wave of panic gripped his throat.

“Daenerys,” he rasped out, taking her hand and squeezing it firmly, “Daenerys!” he said urgently, tugging on her hand.

She stirred and he regretted it immediately.

“Jon?” she looked confused.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, “go back to sleep,”

She frowned, despite the weariness that tugged at her eyelids, she fought it, seeing the worry in his eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“Rest, you’ll need it for tomorrow, my Queen,” he pressed a firm kiss to the back of her hand.

“I am your wife and I _will_ hear my husband out before I rest,” there was a finality to her tone that forbid anymore argument on his part.

He stayed quiet for a while and he was grateful as she merely waited patiently for him, “you will wake with me on the morrow… won’t you?” he asked, his voice never sounding softer and smaller than in that moment. He could still remember the day he last saw her beautiful lilac eyes.

_“We did it…” he told her, almost not daring to believe it was over, “together,” he looked down at her. She was nestled in his arms, her head cradled against his chest. She was pale, almost white._

_A weak smile graced her lips as she met his eyes, “I did give you my word,” her voice was so thin it was barely a whisper._

_“Yes you did, my Queen,” he pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. She sighed._

_“I am so tired, Jon Snow,” she whispered, her eyes closed._

_He touched her freezing cheek, “sleep, my Queen. When you wake, you will be warm and safe and I will be with you. Then we will go to King’s Landing and we will take back the Iron Throne, together,”_

_She smiled weakly, nodding. Then she nestled her cheek into his chest and closed her eyes._

He had allowed her sleep, just like now. And she never woke. He could not wake her no matter what he did or said and 4 years passed.

She leant forward, closer to him as her fingers caressed his cheek, “I will, Jon Snow. I give you my word,”

His breath hitched in his throat and he choked over his reply so he merely nodded, clinging to her promise like a lifeline. He hated himself for tearing up then. He bit his tongue hard as he watched her eyes close and she slept. He could not sleep for when he closed his eyes, she would disappear so he stayed awake.

He watched her sleep, watched her eyes moving aimlessly under her eyelids as she dreamt, watched her mouth move as she whispered in a foreign language he did not understand. He drank in every sign of life from her while she slept, panic gripping him when she was still for a moment too long but she always moved eventually, whether it be a sigh that escaped her lips or her shifting her body towards him slightly only to bump lightly into their son. Before long, the sun rose behind him and shone in through the balcony, illuminating her beautiful face.

He did not realise there had been tension in his chest until she stirred, her eyes opening and the tension in his chest lifted. _She had always kept her word._ It was then in his state of relief, Jon thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Her eyes were lilac but around her pupils, there were rings of brown, almost gold

He did love her so. More than he had ever felt for anyone. He could not know why but he knew that with Daenerys, he did not have to be the Savior of the Realm or the King of the Seven Kingdoms or Aegon Targaryen. With her, he could be whoever he wanted to be. He was just Jon Snow and she was just Daenerys.

She blinked away sleep. When she saw him awake and gazing at her, she smiled sweetly at him and Jon truly felt for the first time, even after he had been King of the Seven Kingdoms for 4 years, only now, did he truly have everything a man could ever dream to have.

* * *

 

A/N: Thank you so much to all those who commented last chapter and gave kudos, I truly appreciate the support you all provide. All Jonerys this chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. Do leave me a comment to tell me what you think of this! What is your favourite part/ line of the whole chapter? (or if you have none, at least tell me why you hate it ;) I just would love to hear from you)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**_Daenerys_ **

The wet nurse had arrived early this morning to bring the Prince for his bath and to dress him. Daenerys had been angry at the poor woman when she had entered and asked for permission to take the Prince. But after a short explanation by Jon that she was his wet nurse, and has been for the past 4 years, Daenerys relented. The Prince was reluctant but after much coaxing from his Father, Jaehaerys agreed to leave but not before making his Mother promise she would be where he could find her again.

As the wet nurse plucked Jaehaerys from her embrace, Daenerys felt as if a piece of her heart had been torn from her. Her hands felt cold and empty with the abrupt loss of her son. She could not help but feel bitterness rise in her throat and settle in her mouth as she watched Jaehaerys settle comfortably in another woman’s arms; a woman he had known as a mother more than his own Mother.

He had been raised by another woman and Daenerys knew in that moment she would do anything to change that. But even as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, there was nothing she could do. The moments were there, and then they were gone; all while she remained asleep, unable to hold her son, comfort him or love him.

Daenerys watched the wet nurse carry her son out the door as he began to nod off again, tears stinging at her eyes but she does not let them fall. Then the door closed and her son was gone.

“Daenerys?”

She turned to meet Jon’s worried eyes. She shook her head then, dismissing his questioning gaze.

 “I saw you getting burned…” she murmured instead as she watched Maester Samwell change Jon’s dressing. He looked up at her, puzzled, “I saw it in my dream. I saw Drogon burn a hole in the pit and escape with Jaehaerys on his back and you following on Rhaegal. I thought it was just a dream until you told me,”

Jon smiled at her kindly and her middle warmed and a tingle ran up her spine, “what else did you dream?”

She mirrored his smile, “I can’t remember most of it but I saw you, on the Iron Throne,” pride swelled in her chest as she recalled, “you are a good King,”

His smile faded, “no, Daenerys. I have told Tyrion and I stand by my word, I would be King Regent till you wake. And now you have,” he looked at her, relief pouring from his grey eyes. Daenerys felt a thrill run through her for the fact that their son had inherited those eyes. The grey eyes of the Starks could be as cold as the bare steel of a sword, intimidating and commanding respect all in one. At the same time, looking at the ones they loved, Daenerys felt loved beyond measure, “Thank you Sam,” Jon said as Maester Samwell finished up.

“I want you to rule beside me,” she took a step forward in front of him as Samwell finished and burned the used dressing and cleaned the equipment. Jon’s eyes went curiously empty as he glimpsed the swell of her breast under her sheer silk dress. Daenerys watched him stare, amused.

She had allowed whoever knocked entry into her chambers, assuming she was decent in the silk dress she slept in but she was apparently wrong. Maester Samwell had bowed and wheeled his cart quietly into the chambers to the King’s side without looking at her all the while. However when he did eventually, he cried out and turned his back to her, apologising profusely. Jon, woken by Sam’s cry of alarm, pinched his lips and grabbed a robe, draping it over her shoulders quickly.

She was bewildered but accepted the robe, opting to leave the sash untied. She had dressed as such and less, walking the streets in Essos but it did not escape her notice when she arrived at the Seven Kingdoms that here, people dress conservatively. At first, she had attributed it to the weather, it was winter after all but apparently it was their custom to dress conservatively after all, if the Maester’s reaction was any indication. The Maester turned back upon Jon’s assurance, his round face remaining tomato red and he refused to look at her, to her amusement, while he worked.

“Jon,” she chided gently as he stared. He blinked, looking embarrassed to be caught. She smirked, holding his face in her hands and tilting it to face her, “I want you to rule beside me,”

His face was unusually warm in her hands, she was used to him being slightly colder than she was, “I would be here, Daenerys, I would give you my counsel if you want it and I would guide you when you need it but I will not rule,” he told her, his northern stubbornness and lack of tact, that once made her blood boil and almost compel her to breathe fire, now made her heart stutter.

She held his stubborn stare a moment longer, willing him to yield but as he did not yield to bend the knee to her 4 years ago at Dragonstone, he did not yield now. She sighed, “You never did enjoy what you are good at,”

He nodded, his lips twitching at the edge, hinting a smile as he recalled his own words.

“I wish you would rule with me,” she said nonetheless, deciding to take a different route to waver him, “we could do it, together,”

He paused and for a moment Daenerys thought she had succeeded but when he looked up at her, there was an uncharacteristic smirk-like smile on his face, but not quite a smirk and she almost giggled at his attempt, “there are other things we would be doing together, Daenerys,”

“What are these ‘other things’?” Daenerys could not quell her smile as she gazed upon his face, happy and humorous; not a common sight on Jon Snow’s face.

“Part of our duties of being King and Queen, would be to produce children for the royal succession,” he placed his hand on her hips, guiding her to stand between his legs, “my duty would be done when my Queen is happy and with child,” He pressed a firm kiss to her hip.

“So King Consort then,” Daenerys said flatly.

Jon nodded, pressing a kiss to her lower abdomen, just below her navel, where her womb was before he looked up at her.  “I never asked, but you told me the witch said…” his voice trailed off.

“I know,” she ran her fingers through his thick curly hair, secretly thankful Jaehaerys had his thick curly locks as well, “I don’t know why, Jon,” she admitted.

“I’m glad she’s wrong,” Jon smiled.

She returned it, “I’m glad as well,” then she glimpsed his eyelids fluttering shut unwittingly. Chuckling, she stroke his cheek with her thumb, feeling the rough stubble; affection for this man filling her, “rest,” she gently nudged him to lay back but he did not. Instead, he looked up at her, his eyes wanting as he stared straight at her lips, “you have to rest,” she insisted but she felt her own tongue moisten her lips unwittingly. Something flashed in his eyes when he saw; something that she was sure reflected in hers as well before she cupped his face and brought her lips down to his, which were eager and waiting.

She was shocked as her nerves was set aflame when her lips touched his. It was not the deep passionate kiss she thought they would have, that they had when they had first kissed but instead, it was slow. Both of them savouring the precious moment and the sweet taste of the other’s lips. Her heart was pounding, almost painfully in her chest. She sighed into his mouth, her forehead against his.

“Jon,” she let out a shaky breath. His eyes were closed as he craned his neck up to kiss her again. The hands on her hips tightened their hold, conveying his desperate want. Just as she was about to deepen the kiss to further explore the sweet depth of his mouth, a loud knock resonated through the solar and into their bedroom. Jon paused to look in the direction of the door but the hands cupping his face brought his lips back to her, with force. She felt his mouth curve up into a smile against hers.

“Your Graces,” The Hand’s voice sounded through the door.

Jon made to pull away to reply but Daenerys would have none of that. Her hands trapping his face and her lips firmly on his, her tongue tempting and occupying his.

“Your Graces, I know you both are in there. I would open this door,”

A threat. Both of them pulled apart at that moment but not of embarrassment, never embarrassment, at least not for her. She had merely pulled away to dismiss the Hand, in annoyance, but the thought of the reserved nature of Jon and why he had pulled away as well, made her hesitate.

“Go away, Lord Tyrion!” Jon shouted and he craned his neck up to her, searching for her lips again. She laughed before resuming their kiss.

“Your Grace, I have matters of great importance to discuss with both of you,” Tyrion’s voice sounded strained and Daenerys could not stop smiling against Jon’s insistent lips. She loved the way he kissed her, gentle but passionate, wanting but extremely giving at the same time. She ran her fingers through his hair as his hands proceeding up her torso. His hands skimmed over her ribs before one hand flattened on her back, pressing her flushed against him, the other hand gently creeping to her front, “Your Graces!” he sounded deeply exasperated and despite the amusing situation of the Hand and a highly tempting situation for both Monarchs, Daenerys knew she had to be the sensible one this time; probably the first time between the two of them.

She pulled away, smiling as Jon’s lips followed her immediately. She tilted her head back, far out of the reach of his lips and a soft whine-like sound escaped his throat. She felt sorry for a moment. Then she gasped when his lips found the supple sensitive skin of her neck, kissing it fiercely.

“Jon,” she moaned. Summoning all her willpower in that moment, she held his face, removing him from her. She pecked him chastely on the lips before speaking, “enter,” he gave her an incredulous look, as if she’d betrayed him; which she probably did, “I am sorry, I truly am,” she forced a small smile, rubbing the beard on his chin with the crook of her index finger as she looked at him longingly, “tonight,” she promised.

“Do I have your word?” his face becoming far too brooding for her liking but she laughed and nodded, pressing another kiss, full of promise to his lips. He returned it eagerly, too eagerly.

A throat cleared loudly. Jon withdrew immediately. So he still was reserved, she mused.

She turned to the source of the noise to see her Hand standing in the open door of their private chambers. Lord Tyrion seemed to be studying the ceiling of their chambers intently.

“Lord Tyrion” she said, amused.

He bowed deeply, “your Grace. It is good to see you well, evidently,” he smiled, his eyes looking meaningfully between the King and her.

She smiled, “it is good to see you as well,”

“So,” he clasped his hands together, “I take it now the King and Queen shall rule Westeros-“

“I won’t be ruling,” Jon interrupted Tyrion.

Tyrion looked at him, surprised, “what?” he turned to the Queen.

“The King won’t be ruling anymore. He would be King Consort,” she told him. When Tyrion raised his brows in disbelief at her, she gave him a muted look, looking to Jon and Tyrion followed her gaze.

“Your Grace, I would suggest that you reconsider,” Tyrion took a step forward.

“I have considered and I would like no part in ruling,” Jon held Tyrion’s gaze for a substantial amount of time and Daenerys imagined this happened quite a bit in Jon’s brief stint as King, “I will offer Daenerys my counsel if need be,”

“And you will sit on the small council-“

“Only the small council, if I am needed,”

“And hold court beside-“

“No,”

“My King-“

“King Consort,”

“Enough,” Daenerys said, the steel of command in her voice and both men stopped, turning to her. She pinched her lips together in amusement as she regarded both men, “Jon will sit on the small council and provide his counsel but that is all,” she turned to the Lord Hand as she finished, daring him to challenge her. He doesn’t, “is there anything else Lord Tyrion?” he shook his head, apparently wanting to discuss the division of duties among the two Monarchs but having only one automatically mooted his proposal, “leave us Lord Tyrion, I will seek you out later in the day,”

Tyrion bowed and turned.

“Oh and Lord Tyrion,” Jon spoke, “please do make the necessary arrangement for the fixing of the dragonpit-“

“That won’t be necessary,” Daenerys interrupted, turning to Jon, who blinked at her.

Tyrion looked between the two of them, raising both brows. Jon saw the look in Daenerys’ eyes and sighed.

“Leave us,” Daenerys said, her expression unreadable at this moment as she looked at her husband. She was mildly aware of Tyrion leaving the room, quickly.

The moment the door closed behind the Hand, he spoke, “Daenerys-“

“No, Jon. I will not have my children locked up in that pit,” she flared, taking 2 steps towards him. Jon blinked but did not withdraw under her rage.

Jon sighed, “I only did that because they were inciting unnecessary panic amongst the smallfolk of the city and-“

“Did they hurt anyone?” Daenerys demanded, feeling the fire building in the pit of her belly as the memory of her children screeching desperately as the doors closed on them came back to her.

“No but they could have,” Jon shot back, “and it would be too late when-“

Daenerys seethed, “they did not and you still locked them in there,” Jon held her glare for a moment before he tore his gaze away, staring out the balcony. It was not yielding, Jon Snow does not yield. She felt her nostrils flaring as she turned away from him, her arms crossed over her chest.

A long moment of silence fell over them. Eventually, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw him shifting uncomfortably, probably from his burn wounds. She felt some of her rage simmer at that thought. She did not know what compelled her to do so but she took a step towards him and reached for his face slowly.

He did not flinch or withdraw from her so she gently cupped his face. Feeling his rough stubble and his strong jaw in her hand, she felt the last of her anger ebb away, the fire in her burning low again. Daenerys knew herself and she knew in these fights when she felt as she did just moments ago, the dragon would have raged on and burned everything in its path until stag, lion, sheep and wolf yielded all the same, or die. But not with Jon Snow. Her flames could not seem to make him yield and she would not kill him. It could be the dragon in him as well, fighting her, but she knew deep down, he was more than merely another dragon to match her rage. A glance at him and his brooding visage quelled her anger like nothing else could.

She gently guided him to look at her. At first he resisted, staring broodingly out the balcony but she persisted and eventually, he looked up at her. She could not help herself as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, glimpsing his eyes close, his tensed shoulders and his taut muscles slowly relaxing, “I have told you. The dragons are the source of strength of our house, the Targaryens, Dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold. They are the reason the Targaryens survived the Doom and came to Westeros and now they are the reason I am alive, that I am home. I cannot lock them up, Jon. I will not allow a Targaryen dynasty to begin just to end again,” steel settled behind her lilac eyes.    

Something wavered in the strong grey eyes she loved as he heard her words. He spoke, “I could not control them, Daenerys. Not without you there,” he placed his hands on her waist and tugged her into his lap. She went, pondering over what he had said.

She frowned, “my brother used to tell me Targaryens married brother to sister to keep the magic in our blood pure. Even then some Targaryens were not born dragons. I had thought he only meant the magic of the unburnt,” she turned to her husband to watch him admiring her in a way that made her blush, “Jon?”

He blinked and paused, seeming to recall what they were talking about, “I am a Snow, Daenerys,” he told her, “no matter who my father is, I am more Stark than Targaryen. I do not have the magic your brother spoke of,”

She already knew Jon Snow burned as common men did, the scars on his palm was evident enough. And yet, she had fallen in love with him. Now, she knew he seemed not to be able to develop the control over the dragons that came naturally to her after being with the dragons for a while. And yet, her heart still sang as he had pulled her into his lap just now so she told him, “it matters not, to me,” and buried her face into his neck. Her heart ached strangely as she felt a deep sigh of almost relief left him. _Did he think she wanted him because he was a Targaryen by her brother Rhaegar, that she would not want him if he could not control her dragons?_ She asked him.

“All my life I have been a Bastard, Daenerys,” he said and she looked curiously at him as he explained, “nobody ever wanted anything to do with a Bastard,”

“It matters not to me,” she told him again, this time looking into his eyes, “ _Jaelan ao_ , (I want you),” at his confused look, she said, “Stark, Targaryen or Snow, _I_ want you,”

She was surprised when his eyes became red rimmed though his eyes remained dry. She did not ever remember seeing Jon cry, “ _kirimvose, Daenērys Jelmāzmo_ (thank you, Daenerys Stormborn),”

She laughed and he looked at her bashfully. The words were correct but the pronunciation could use work.

“And the dragons?” he asked.

Daenerys stood from his lap and gently helped him back into bed, “we will keep them in the pit in the night but in the day, they roam free as they wish,” Jon nodded his agreement. She sat on his side on the bed, smoothing the hair on the side of his head, “The dragons will fill the people with wonder and awe and they would learn they have nothing to fear from their King and Queen’s dragons.”

“Yes, My Queen,” he smiled.

She leaned over him, “this is what I want, Jon,”

He frowned, “fighting over where to put the dragons?”

She chuckled, “no, ruling; making decisions together as equals,”

He pondered it before concluding, “So, fighting, in other words,”

“I could never stay angry at you,” Daenerys told him honestly.

“They have always said us Northern fools are cold,” Jon smiled, tiredly, his heavy eyelids half closed, “at least, _your_ fires couldn’t burn me,”

His tired eyes closed, his smile fading to a small smile as he slipped into a deep slumber, “my fires would never burn you, they would only keep you warm,” she whispered and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. When she pulled away, she could tell from his even breaths that he was asleep.

She pulled the furs tighter around him and rose silently. Calling her handmaidens, they began to dress her for the day. She sat as Missandei brushed her silver tresses out before braiding them intricately. Daenerys watched Missandei all the while in the reflection of the mirror. She was a close friend, her confidante, at least from when Daenerys remembered last. Since she woke, she had not had the opportunity to speak to Missandei alone but Daenerys found herself yearning to feel that friendship once more and Daenerys wondered if Missandei felt lonely all these years. She wondered if their friendship has been muted by time, to become the relationship of that between Queen and handmaiden. Daenerys blinked and opened her mouth to speak, wanting to speak when two of her Dothraki handmaidens entered. _Later it is._

It seemed a beautiful warm day so when Daenerys saw the maroon essosi gown her two dothraki handmaidens, Thashi and Ikhi, she accepted it gratefully. It hung from her neck by a thin golden necklace, leaving her shoulders bare while covering her front. Loose fabric fell down her back, barely concealing her sides and some of her back. She allowed Missandei to fasten a dothraki medallion belt around her waist. She looked into the mirror Ikhi brought to her.

She looked the same but Daenerys paused as she considered the years she had lost to the Night King. She had not told Jon but even in her deep sleep, she had seen those bright blue eyes, looking at her as she flew in the nightsky with Drogon. The eyes of the Night King as well as the eyes of her sweet child, Viserion. She would call out to him, as she did in the War and as he did in the war, Viserion would let loose a bone chilling roar, blue flames streaming towards her and Drogon. She could not wake and she was terrified.

“Khaleesi?” Thashi asked softly, looking almost afraid as Daenerys stared into the mirror a moment too long.

She smiled and nodded at her handmaidens as she stood. They smiled and shuffled after her. She walked to the King, pressing a kiss to his forehead. As she straightened she turned to them, “vikovarerat ma Khal (stay with the King),” the two Dothraki handmaidens nodded.

She then turned to Missandei and smiled as she walked out of the chambers. At the door, she looked about to see 6 knights standing there and 2 Dothraki men. Seeing her, the Unsullied guarding the corridors and the Dothrakis dropped to one knee silently. Two knights dropped to one knee like the rest. Noticing the rest had kneeled, the rest of the knights seemingly paused halfway in a bow, before dropping to one knee as well.

“Sers there is no need, rise,” she told them, watching them rise stiffly in all their armour, their white cloaks behind them, “remove your helm,” she commanded. When they did, she looked each of them in the eye in turn. Some ducked their head and bowed when they met her eyes, some nodded but all held her gaze when she asked for their names and they reported. She met Ser Humfrey Hightower, Ser Raymun Darry, Ser Harlan Whent and Ser Ned Cerwyn. When she reach the 5th knight, she smiled, “Ser Jorah,” she greeted, “you’re here,”

“I am of your Queensguard, your Grace. There is no other place for me,” he told her. She smiled, he truly was her strength; her bear. Reaching a hand towards him, she noticed the other knights shifting, almost uncomfortably as she touched his cheek, she did not care, “I’ve said I would never abandon you,”

“And I believe you,” with one last smile, she proceeded to the last knight, pausing once again, “Ser Jaime,” she could not help but feel surprised.

He was a dear ally and friend in the Great War and his counsel in war proved valuable. She had thought Jon would bestow a title befitting of his name and expertise, rather than be a member of a Kingsguard, as he had been before, “Your Grace,” he smiled an easy confident smile that complimented his handsome features. A confidence that Daenerys enjoyed, something that reminded her of her Hand when they had first met.

Then she turned to her Dothraki, Qhono, who greeted, “Khaleesi, shafka athtihar chek ma haj (My Queen, you look well and strong),”

“Qoy Qoyi, ven hash yer (Blood of my blood, as do you),” she said to both Qhono and Aggo. Then she turned to the 4 knights closest to the door of her chamber, “Ser Hightower, Ser Darry, Ser Whent, Ser Cerwyn stay with the King,” they bowed and obliged, wearing their helmet once more. Then she turned and walked away, aware that Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah had donned their helm as well and trailed behind her. Behind them, Qhono and Aggo followed, their _arakhs_ wielded in their hands. She noticed the long swords they carried at their waist as well, no doubt having looted them during the war. She had thought to stop the Dothraki from looting but was advised against it by Lord Tyrion for she had already forbidden rape and protests were beginning to stir among them. For the respect she had for her dead Khal, she had turned a blind eye to their looting from the dead enemy. Behind the dothraki, 4 unsullied followed silently, spears and shield in hand.

As she walked and was just wondering how she would find Tyrion, not having a clue where he was or how to get there, she passed a young Westerosi handmaiden she did not recognise. She watched as the handmaiden’s eyes widened as she saw her silver hair, lilac eyes and the entourage of Queensguard, Dothraki and Unsullied. Fear seem to compel her to drop to her knees immediately, the empty basin she held clanked to the floor loudly and rolled. Daenerys stopped walking and felt amusement bubble at her panic. She raised a hand as Qhono made to step forward to kick away the offending basin. Daenerys bent and picked the basin up, approaching the handmaiden who was positively shaking, her face on the ground, “rise,”

The handmaiden rose, still shaking evidently. Daenerys waited till she hesitantly lifted her eyes to meet her own.

“What is your name?” Daenerys asked.

She ducked her eyes, looking at the basin in the Queen’s hand, “Bernadette, y-your Grace,”

Daenerys handed her the basin and watched her reach a trembling hand out to take it.

“T-t-thank you, your Grace,” she bowed.

Daenerys, highly amused, was about to ask her where would she find the Hand when she heard the voice of said Hand, “Bernadette, didn’t I tell you to fetch that water already?” she turned to see her Hand walk down the corridor, 2 men flanking him. The handmaiden, her head bowed, nodded and scurried away quickly, Daenerys watching her curiously.

“She’s your handmaiden?” Daenerys asked, mirth evident on her face as she turned to meet her Hand.

“She was my sister’s,”

Daenerys stiffened, her eyes hardening into an almost glare. The girl was clever to be afraid.

Tyrion saw her eyes darken and rephrased his words, “she belongs to the Lannister household, which I am Lord of,”

Her anger abated somewhat but not fully as she resumed her walk, her Hand keeping pace beside her, “there are matters you want to discuss?” she asked, since she had met him while he was walking towards her chambers.

“Yes,” Tyrion admitted, “if my Queen do not mind, we will convene in the Tower of the Hand,” she nodded in agreement, “how’s the King?”

“Injured,” Daenerys sighed at the thought, “burnt,” she could feel Tyrion look at her, “we have decided that the dragons will fly free in the day and confined to the pits only in the night, if they return to King's Landing,” she turned to him, almost challenging him to challenge her decision but he does not and only nodded.

Then she glanced up from looking at her Hand to see the eyes of several passing Handmaid and page boys, all Westerosi and foreign to her eyes. Their eyes would all widen as they saw her before they bowed or knelt frantically. This time, she did not stop but walked on after nodding to them, which they would not see with their face turned towards the ground. Behind her, she heard Qhono snort in amusement at the apparent cowardice of the people of Westeros, telling Aggo loudly in Dothraki.

She glanced to see the two men who accompanied Lord Tyrion stiffen at Qhono’s snort, no doubt sensing the insult even if they did not understand the language. One rolled his eyes and the other clenched his hands into fists.

An unsettled feeling seem to take root in her stomach as she passed many servants on their way to the Tower of the Hand and all of them seem to react with shock then fear as they greeted her hastily but there was no recognition, much less any love for her. It also did not escape her notice that she did not know her supposed home and the thought left her cold. _All I have done and sacrificed to come home. Was any of it worth it?_

Regardless, she swept aside these feelings and walked with an air of confidence and regality she had long learned to put on as a leader; a Queen, like armour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, this chapter was initially meant to be longer but it was getting a little too long so I have decided to split it into two chapters. Hope this chapter is satisfying for those who have been waiting for a Daenerys POV ever since she woke! So this chapter, where Dany and Jon have their first fight!  And she finally left the ‘safety’ of Jon and ended up being quite lost as she took up the title Queen pretty abruptly. It was fun to write actually, a different side of Daenerys we hardly see any more since Season 2.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! Do leave me a comment to let me know what you think, I look forward to hearing from you! : )


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**_Daenerys_ **

They entered the Tower of the Hand and climbed the steps to the Hand’s office, beside the private chambers. When they arrived, Daenerys left her entourage at the door, resolving to speak her Hand in private. Tyrion paused as she helped herself to one of the two seats opposite the seat of the Hand. Then he proceeded to take his seat when she glanced over at him, “My sister would have taken my seat because she can,”

She scoffed, “this is your tower and I am not your sister,”

“No, thank the Gods,” Tyrion raised his brows as he took a seat. 

Daenerys watched Missandei pour wine for both her and the Hand before retreating to the side. She took a sip, “tell me,”

“What about my Queen?” Tyrion downed the wine, gesturing Missandei to pour a second cup. Daenerys watched, amused as he drained the cup as well.

“About ‘my’ rule, my people, my country,”

“Winter has passed, the small folk are relatively safe, the noble lords are…as satisfied as they would ever be and Westeros finally have some semblance of peace,” he said simply.

“The Lords of the Noble Houses?”

“Seeing as the Baratheon line has died away, save a few of Robert Baratheon’s bastards, thanks to my nephew, the King saw fit to legitimise Gendry Waters to Gendry Baratheon, now the Lord of the Stormlands. The Tyrells in the south, ruled by Lord Willas Tyrell, last surviving child of former Lord Mace Tyrell. Lady Sansa Stark, named Warden of the North, now presides over Winterfell and the North. Lord Robert Arryn rules the Vale and Lord Edmure Tully over Riverrun. Lady Yara rules at Pyke alongside her brother Theon Greyjoy. Ser Davos Seaworth has returned to his wife and two surviving sons at Cape Wrath and has since distanced himself from matters of politics,”

“What of Dorne?” Daenerys asked.

 “We have had minimal contact with Dorne as of yet but Lady Arianne Martell rules over Sunspear,”

Daenerys was annoyed and felt a familiar tingling of fire stirring in the pit of her stomach. She ignored it and probed further, “So Dorne remains free?”

Tyrion seemed to deliberate upon his reply for a while, “we have an alliance with the Martells,”

“Not their oath of fealty,” Daenerys shot back, “have they refused their summons to King’s Landing to bend the knee to the crown?” the fire crept up her spine.

“They did send a reply regarding conditions-“

“Did they refuse the summon?” she seethed.

Tyrion pressed his lips together then he admitted, “yes, they did,”

A strange serenity fell on Daenerys as she sat back in her chair and declared, “then they are in open rebellion to the crown,” the threat of bringing _fire and blood_ to House Martell hung heavy in the air between them.

Tyrion swallowed, keeping himself still and unflinching under the fires of the Dragon with much effort, “Well, they did state they would bend the knee to a Targaryen ruler and no one else in their reply to the King,” Tyrion pointed out, “and the King could not care to assert his claim as a Targaryen, no more than he claim to be a Stark,”

“In that case,” Daenerys stood, taking a sip of her wine as she stood to look out the window beside the table, “send a raven to Arianne Martell and tell her a Targaryen Queen summons her to King’s Landing to bend the knee within the fortnight or _fire and blood_ will come for House Martell,”

Tyrion nodded, pulling a sheet of paper before him. His squire from house Whent came forward and began grinding the ink stone.

“What of the Dothraki?” Daenerys asked, turning around, leaning on the window sill.

“They… are a problem,” Tyrion admitted, his eyes on the parchment as he began to write.

She expected as much and waited to Tyrion to continue.

“They dispersed when they saw your fall,” Tyrion said as gently as he could but Daenerys did not need it. She knew what happened when a Khal or Khaleesi, in this case, fell from her steed.

“Khal fin laz vos dothrakh vos Khal, “she said softly. Tyrion placed his quill aside and looked up, frowning in confusion, “A Khal who cannot ride is no Khal. That’s why they left.”  

“We did meet with them in their camp,” Tyrion paused, “and we tried to negotiate their return to Essos but they refused to cross the ‘poison water’,” _they did for her_.

“How many Khalasars are there now?” she asked, her head was starting to pound.

“The last we heard, 3,” Tyrion touched his beard thoughtfully, “Khal Rhako, Khal Kaffo, Khal Anno. We have sent most of the Unsullied army and many soldiers to keep the peace and protect the smallfolk, the King almost went himself but the small council had advised strongly against it and Lady Sansa had refused his offer to ride North,”

“Lady Sansa?” Daenerys asked, questioning the involvement of the Lady of Winterfell.

Tyrion pursed his lips as he considered what he was about to tell her and Daenerys knew it was nothing good, “Khal Kaffo overran Greywater watch. The last remaining members of House Reed has fled to Winterfell,”

Daenerys felt her hand curl into a fist. She had brought her army to Westeros to win back her throne and to protect the common people but now, her army attacks the people. She then felt the sting of the words she had heard during the war with Cersei Lannister, that she had brought foreign savages to their lands; her own home. She was a Khaleesi of the Dothraki and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she did nothing as one attacked the other.

“Sansa Stark is able to hold the rest of the North against the Dothraki as they seemed to experience some trouble with the swamp and the cold of the North. It was only then did the King not ride off into battle,” Tyrion said. She closed her eyes momentarily, taking small comfort in the temporary safety of the King’s home, “the Lannister army is pushing them back from going south but…” his voice trailed off.

_The Dothraki will stop at nothing. They did promise to tear down stone houses and kill men in iron suits. Just no longer for me._

“I will make them stop,”

Tyrion sighed, that was what he was afraid his Queen would say. He seemed to rue the impending counsel he would give, probably the same counsel he had given the King when they had news of the fall of Greywater Watch, “you are a Queen, not-“

_The Dothraki follow strength above all._

 “I am Khaleesi of the Dothraki. They will not bend the knee. To gain their loyalty, I would have to show them strength,” she glowered, “I’d have to kill them,”

“Not all of them…” Tyrion watched her carefully.

“No, not all of them,” Daenerys sipped at her drink, hoping it would soothe the lump in her throat at the thought of killing her own people but to no avail, “just enough for them to see,”

“And what then?” Tyrion asked, seemingly more open to the idea now. The Dothraki were and still remains her people after all.

“I will command them to return to Essos,” she said, her voice wavering just slightly to her own ears but Tyrion seemed to not have noticed.

Every time she saw their olive skin, deep set of ferocious eyes, their long braids, their strong hands wielding their arakhs, she was reminded of her _Khal_ and it brought a sting in her heart but more importantly, it gave her strength.

She remembered the first time on Dragonstone when her Dothraki handmaiden had braided her hair as they would a Khal’s, tying small bells to them. Tears had welled up in her eyes then. She was grateful to her handmaidens and honoured when she saw her braid, earned from her victories. Her braid represented the Dothraki’s utmost respect for her. Now, she must bring the Dothraki to heel again and send them away from her. She would not be just losing her army. She would be letting go of whatever she had left of her Khal and the Dothraki. But it had to be done.

“I will leave for the North on the morrow,” she informed.

Tyrion gaped, “so soon? It would take at least a week for the soldiers-“

“No soldiers. I will bring _fire and blood_ on Drogon and it will be done,” she said, not looking at her Hand, “no one else needs to get killed,”

“Even if I were to encourage such an inadvisable thing,” Tyrion seemed to sigh, “the King would never agree to this,”

Her eyes steeled, “I would not need the agreement of the King _Consort_ nor the small council,” her intention to veto this decision as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was plain on her face and Tyrion nodded, knowing by now there was nothing he could do to stop her; just like how she flew North of the Wall years ago despite his counsel.

_You’re a dragon. Be a dragon._

The words from years ago came back to her as if it was merely months ago. And to Daenerys, it was only months ago, “is that all?” she asked.

“For now,” he said and watched as she rose from her seat, unsteadily, “you should rest, Your Grace,”

Daenerys smiled sadly, “I have, Lord Tyrion, for the past 4 years,” Tyrion was quiet and she understood. _What could he say to that? 4 years of her life gone by without her living a single one of them_. “Why do they fear me?” she felt she needed to ask, recalling the faces of the handmaidens and page boys she met.

Tyrion replied, seeming to choose his words carefully, “the King made sure the people knows you saved them, from the white walkers, from winter,”

“And yet, they fear me,” It was a fact and Tyrion did not correct her. So they both knew it.

“Well…the Targaryen’s reign do not exactly bring back happy memories for the smallfolk and everyone knew the Dothraki were your people; that you married one,” Tyrion replied, “and now, they pillage villages, loot, kill and rape. The people of Westeros are brought up with the frightening stories of white walkers and Dothraki screamers. You may have saved them from one-“

“But I brought the other to their shore,” she interrupted, finishing, “and that is one more reason why I have to be the one to defeat the Dothraki,” she turned, studying her Hand’s reaction.

Tyrion scratched his bearded chin, as he always did when he was thinking, “It is a suitable plan but not the wisest for a Queen. If you were to lose…the Kingdoms fall with you. The King would not-”

“Who said anything about losing?” Daenerys said simply. Tyrion nodded then, though his worry and uneasiness for the plan evidently did not abate.

“The Dothraki is not the only reason the common people have to fear you…”

She knew what he spoke of. Jon would not lock her dragons up without the approval of the Hand, “They fear my dragons,”

“Which is smart of them,” Tyrion said matter-of-factly. His eyes held hers in a measured expression.

“So you locked them up in there,” Daenerys took a step towards Tyrion and he sank back in his seat, just slightly, “ _how dare you_?”

Tyrion looked up at her then, there was some fear in his eyes but then he steeled himself and stared at her, determined, “Drogon has not been the friendliest of dragons in the last 4 years, my Queen. He would not be tamed and he was unusually angry. We did not want the blood of the people on your hands more than what is already there because of the Dothraki,” he paused and looked at her.

“So locking them up was a way to protect me?” She demanded, glaring at him, “you know that dragons cannot be held captive. You know what would happen to them,”

He did know and he averted her gaze, “it was a temporary arrangement,”

“Is it?” Daenerys seethed.

“At least, till I thought of something, it was the only option we had at that time,” Tyrion said diplomatically, “their mother is gone, and the King is bonded with Rhaegal but could not contain Drogon. Drogon flew over villages and cities, he burned fields and intimidated peasants. We were lucky to have not heard word of any deaths,”   

Daenerys turned away. She had not forgotten the blackened bones of the girl that the father had laid at her feet as he had sobbed for mercy. She loved her dragons for they were her children, no less than Jaehaerys; her own flesh and blood, but a part of her knew they cannot be tamed. A dragon would do as it likes.

“But now you have returned and the dragons roam the skies, free,” Tyrion said, stepping down from his chair to stand before her, “I have not heard a single angry roar from them all morning as they circle the Red Keep, even now. There is finally some semblance of peace because you are here. It would only be a matter of time before the people realises you are a benevolent Queen and they will love you, as the people of Essos does,”

Daenerys took a slow breath, recognising the tone of her Hand; he already had a suggestion in mind, “what do you propose?”

Tyrion nodded and seemed to make a deliberate decision to bring up his proposition, “Well, the Meereeneese have their fighting pits, we have our tourneys; less bloody and more enjoyable for all. We can organise one to celebrate the return of the Queen. We will invite all the noble houses-“

“And the common people,” Daenerys cut in.

Tyrion paused, “and the common people and the people will know their Queen amidst feasts, celebration and wine. They would love you,”

Daenerys paused, pondering. A celebration would be a good thing for the people; at least then, something good would come out of a Targaryen rule for them to remember, “You are a learned man in that area. I will leave you to organise the Tourney then,” she said. The eager twinkle in the Hand’s eyes as she said so made her crack a small smile. 

“Finally,” Tyrion clapped his hands and rubbed them together, “the King is a good king but the gods know, King Snow has reduced the vibrancy and laughter of the capital to the infamous grunts and silent brooding of the Northerners. We have not had a tourney since…I can’t even remember,”

Daenerys laughed, “don’t enjoy yourself too much,” she cautioned before turning to leave, “oh and Lord Tyrion, may I use your solar for private audiences this day?” she told herself it was for convenience but truthfully, she was not looking forward to wandering about the Red Keep, seeing the fearful faces of her people. And she hadn’t the slightest idea where her audience chambers were.

Tyrion grinned at her, gesturing for her to go ahead, “by all means your Grace, you can have my tower for the day if you wish. For you have just granted me the freedom to love and enjoy life in the capital once more and I would forever be in your debt,” he bowed theatrically.

Daenerys shook her head, smiling as she entered the large adjoining solar.

Missandei followed behind her, closing the door behind them.

She sat at the table and sighed. She had spent the morning trying to find out how the country was faring in her absence and she was already exhausted. Daenerys then looked at Missandei. The girl was not looking at her.

“Missandei,” Daenerys said. Missandei approached and stood before her, still looking down.

“Yes, your Grace?” Missandei asked, looking up.

Daenerys smiled at her and was relieved when Missandei returned it, albeit a small, hesitant smile, “have you been well?”

The iciness of the room seem to have broken then, boundaries between Queen and handmaiden moving aside to give way to a warm friendship that Daenerys was immensely glad still existed.

“Yes, your Grace,” Missandei’s tentative smile widened, “I am glad you have returned to us,”

“Have you been lonely, my friend?”

Missandei seem to consider her question for a moment before looking to her with a slight twinkle in her eyes, “Greyworm has been a comfort but he…he is not the best person to talk to about problems with,”

“A comfort?” Daenerys probed, her tone teasing. She was glad to see Missandei blush just slightly, trying not to smile, “I am happy for you,” she assured. Gesturing to the chair beside her, Daenerys urged her to sit so they could talk properly, as friends. Missandei sat, seeming to be finally at ease, “I have missed so much. 4 years have passed and I know not of a single day in those 4 years. Tell me what I would have seen,”

“You are deeply loved and missed in every day of these 4 years, your Grace,” Missandei said, her hand covering Daenerys’ own, on the arm of her chair, “the King comes to your chambers every morning at daybreak and again at the end of the day. Sometimes, he would come in the middle of the day. He would ask us to leave when he entered and he always looked sad but happy when he saw you. The Prince comes less often than the King but he always stays until he is forced to his lessons. The Prince often talks to you till he falls asleep beside you,”

Daenerys smiled as she listened, drinking in every detail of her life for the last 4 years that she had no memory of, “what of when Jaehaerys was a babe?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“The Prince was kept in his room with the wet nurse for most of the day but the King brought him to visit you every night. When the Prince was still a small babe, there was one night when the Prince had cried so loudly he woke the whole of Maegor’s Holdfast. The wet nurse and all of the Handmaidens in the Holdfast tried to comfort him. He could not speak yet so we could only guess what he wanted. We fed him, burped him, changed him, cuddled him, sang to him and rocked him and still, he cried.”

“Then the King came and took him in his arms, all the while talking to him but the Prince cried, bawling until his face was red and turning blue. The King had even called the Grand Maester to have a look at the Prince but they did not find anything wrong, he was well. Then the King brought the Prince to you. He cried for a while still. But as the King placed the Prince in your arms, he slowly became quiet and he slept. Then we realised the Prince had wanted his Mother,”  

Daenerys felt tears sting in her eyes, “but how could he want me when he does not know me for a mother?”

“I do not know, your Grace but he is your son. He will always be your son and in Naath, we always believe that there is a bond between mother and child. One that could never be broken, even after the child is pulled from the mother,” Missandei smiled. Daenerys nodded, hoping against hope that Missandei was right. But the love Jaehaerys had for her as he reached for her in that first moment and the way he clung onto her was undeniable. He loved her, his mother, as she loved him.  

Missandei told her, her dark brown eyes solemn, “truthfully, you did not miss a day, your Grace. You were with them even if you do not know it,”

Daenerys nodded, feeling her eyes well up and blurred her vision but she did allow them to fall, “thank you Missandei.” Missandei smiled then, squeezing her hand.

“I can tell you more, your Grace,” Missandei offered.

Daenerys paused. It was tempting, to listen to years of stories of a life that was hers but ones she did not remember. Eventually, she shook her head, “maybe not so often,” she said softly, staring at the floor.

_If I look back, I am lost._

Missandei nodded, understanding and in that moment, Daenerys had never felt more fortunate to have her friend. Missandei was always extremely perceptive, which suited Daenerys, who was not used to showing her emotions, especially in the presence of others, “whenever you wish to hear more, your Grace,”

Daenerys nodded, grateful.  

“The King was not the only man eager for you to wake,” Missandei said suddenly.

Daenerys blinked.

“Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah watched over you day and night,” Missandei told her, a small smile on her lips, “they barely left your side but for meals and baths,”

“Ser Jorah has always been a loyal servant and a dear friend,” Daenerys replied simply. Ser Jorah had made his affections plain to her. But they both knew she loved him dearly as an advisor and a friend; he was her bear who protected her tirelessly, from the very beginning. But he was nothing more than that.

Daenerys could see a questioning look in Missandei’s eyes despite her answer and Daenerys knew what she wanted to ask.

“Ser Jaime…” Daenerys started but paused as she found she did not know what he was to her. She only remembered he had intrigued her and when she spoke to him more, she had enjoyed the conversations they shared and appreciated his counsel in their time at Winterfell. In that time, she came to know Ser Jaime to be a different man from what people told her; he was a man of honour. By the end, during the war, Daenerys had surprised herself when she realised that she did trust him, “what do you think of him?” she had asked Missandei this at Winterfell and at that time, Missandei had given her a political answer which was the kind of answer Daenerys wanted. But not this time.

“He seems very fond of you, Your Grace,” Missandei said honestly.

“Does he?” Daenerys asked.

Missandei nodded, “Ser Jaime seems a loyal man as well,” Daenerys nodded in agreement. She valued Missandei’s inputs for Missandei was not merely a translator, she was her confidante. And in Missandei’s time as a slave, she has seen many men, lying or honest, loyal or traitorous; she knew what they looked like. After a time, Daenerys realised Missandei was a decent judge of character. And she was speaking well of Ser Jaime.

“He would make a good Queensguard,” Daenerys replied.

“Only a Queensguard, your Grace?”

Daenerys turned to Missandei, surprised, “what else could he be?”

Missandei shrugged, “you seem very attached to him at Winterfell,”

“I was,” Daenerys echoed, in realisation.

“And he is very handsome,” Missandei smiled, a twinkle in her eye.

Daenerys giggled, “yes, he is,” despite herself, Daenerys could not quell her amusement at what she thought Missandei was suggesting, “what are you suggesting?” she raised a brow.

And Missandei told her; exactly what Daenerys thought she was suggesting, “He would be a suitable lover. He could please you,” In their time in Meereen, Daario came up as a topic of conversation once or twice so Missandei knew of her relationship with Daario; that the Queen had no qualms about taking lovers.

Daenerys laughed, “yes, he would be and he could,” _without a doubt_ , “but I am married to the King now,”

Missandei frowned, “and it has served its purpose to establish alliance with the North and in the past, reigning monarchs of Westeros have taken lovers,”

“Yes,” Daenerys nodded, smiling as she explained, “but my marriage to the King is not merely one of political alliance. I love the King, and I will stay loyal to him. I will only be with the King now,”

“Loyalty in love…” Missandei said the words as if they were a foreign concept to her and Daenerys thought it probably was. Missandei had told her of the very liberal culture of love in Naath. There was no marriage and the people there did not stay with a single partner for a long time, not nearly as long as what was expected in Westeros; for life. Daenerys thought fidelity probably held greater importance in Westeros due to the issue of succession among the Noble Houses of Westeros. Naath knew not of succession. They led simpler lives; a life Daenerys never knew. 

“I enjoyed my conversations with Ser Jaime, Missandei. That is all,” Daenerys said with a finality but her lips were curved in amusement and Missandei smiled, nodding in acknowledgement.

Daenerys had said it and she meant it. She had not known while at Winterfell what Ser Jaime was to her, why she kept him so close to her side even if he was ‘the enemy’. She did not know even now.

But she knew one sure thing; when Missandei had told her how Ser Jaime was possibly in love with her, there was no flutter in her chest or the unusual urge to smile; as she had felt years ago, when Tyrion had told her that Jon Snow was in love with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, this chapter was actually pretty difficult to write! But finally, I am (somewhat) satisfied with how this turned out and I hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> Do leave me a comment to let me know what you think : )


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**_Daenerys_ **

Daenerys asked Missandei to summon said knight. Missandei nodded and did as she asked.

Moments later, a knock sounded and the door opened. Jaime Lannister entered, his helm already removed and under his arm, his right stump on the pommel of his sword. He did not have his golden hand but the absence of it barely marred his beauty; and yes, Jaime Lannister could only be described as a beautiful man. He was born with the look of a prince; golden locks, bright green emerald eyes and a strong jawline. _He_ would _make a good lover but at a different time, in a different place, for a different Queen who did not already have a beloved King._

“My Queen,” he greeted with a nod and when she nodded, he approached. Without a word, he drew his sword, baring steel to her but Daenerys barely blinked. She did however when he knelt on one knee before her abruptly, holding his sword above his head.

“What are you doing?” she watched him, amused.

“I, Jaime of House Lannister, swear my sword and loyalty to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New,” Daenerys inclined her chin as she heard his vows.

“Have you not already swore an oath to the crown?” she asked.

He looked up at her from his knelt position on the ground, “I swore an oath to the _King_ ,” _the distinction escapes many,_ she mused.

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table,” Daenerys recited, “I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonour,” she caught Ser Jaime let out a wavering breath of almost relief as she vowed that to him, “I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise,” she watched him stand and sheath his sword, “sit,” she nodded to the chair beside her. He hesitated, “you just swore yourself to me and you would disobey my first command?”

He watched her unwaveringly as he sat, as she asked.

“Another oath, Ser Jaime?” she raised a brow at him, “the last time we spoke in earnest it was…about the numerous vows you took,” he nodded, looking surprised she remembered their conversation from years ago but he would not be the first or the last to be surprised, “why swear another?”

“Because my brother was right about you,” he told her, leaning forward, a soft look in his eyes and a smile on his lips. He could be very charming when he tried, she realised. “Well, Tyrion was always right about everything. He was the smart one-”

“Right about what?” Daenerys interrupted, impatient.

“That you are the right kind of terrible we need,” his voice wavered, barely noticeable, as he said and his eyes were faraway, “do you remember the one time we met on the battlefield?” he gave her an easy smile.

“Where you’d tried to kill me,” she shot back, “it is hard to forget,”

He sighed and nodded, “and you tried to kill me. You brought fire and blood on the Lannister Army. I have never felt more frightened in my life when I saw you, on the back of the great black beast. Commanding it to _burn us all_. It was like seeing a ghost,” Daenerys pressed her lips together. She expected to feel angry that he would judge her but instead, she felt an uncertainty that she could have a cruel heart and be mad, as her many ancestors were before her.

Jaime continued, “I knew I needed to end it then, as I did before. Regardless of honour, glory or even my own life, I needed to end it before it began this time. So yes, I had tried to kill you and I do not regret trying in that moment,”

 “Then I saw you in the dragonpit, saw that you were willing to give up the crown for the greater good, to fight for your men, to fight for _life._ I came to Winterfell, knowing that you and the King could have me killed but I knew I needed to do the right thing, even it is the last thing I ever do. And you didn’t have me killed. I was surprised but I was not so sure yet. Until I saw you fight in the Great War; how your men are willing to die for you as you would die for them. As you _died_ for them. Then I was sure…” he edged off his seat, closer now.

“Sure of what?” she asked, unable to help feeling curious.

“That you, My Queen,” Ser Jaime paused, his green eyes boring into her lilac ones, “are the Queen we deserve, the Queen the Seven Kingdoms deserve and the Queen I know I can pledge my sword and life to without ever having to choose between keeping my oaths to you, or breaking it for the greater good again,” he glanced down at her clasped hands in her lap but then his eyes darted back to hers, “I have sworn so many vows I barely remember them all but I remember the one I swore to your father, the first I have ever sworn to a King. And no matter what others may say, I remember my vows when I killed my King; my vows as a knight. I killed my King to protect the people; one vow for another and I was repaid with hatred and the people despise me.

From that moment, I never believed in taking any oaths, it was all too much to keep. But you are not your father and my oath to you...it will be the last I would ever take in this life, I would make sure of it,” _for he would be dead before his Queen’s death could free him from his vow._

She felt a shiver run up her spine at his words and she let out a breath she did not realise she was holding. Such was his loyalty and, even through years of betrayal and the walls she had built around her trust to guard it selfishly, she felt it. She believed him, “I would hold you to your words today, Ser Jaime,”

He bowed his head low, glancing at the door. His armour reminding him of his duties to protect his Queen. His fingers twitched to his sword and he made to stand.

“I did not give you permission to leave,” she said and he paused, sitting back down; a little straighter.

A knight under the command of his Queen.

“Does it bother you?” Daenerys asked then, “how everyone speak of you? Kingslayer, they call you. The Oathbreaker who killed his own King. How they fear and hate you and despise you?” _the same people who fear and hate and despise me._  

Jaime looked at her, “yes,” it was the answer she expected but the expectation did not quell her surprise that he would admit it to her, “it bothers me. But I know it shouldn’t,” Jaime smiled then but it was not a smile of joy, it was one of bitterness, “my Father used to tell me, a lion does not concern himself with the opinions of a sheep.” _Neither should a dragon._ “He was a lion but I never was. It never bothered him that I killed the King I had sworn to protect but it bothered me. He would scorn at me whenever I chose honour over family so I did as he wanted, what Cersei wanted. All I did for the family, for years,”

“But you chose honour in the end,” Daenerys said. He had rode North himself. She could still remember him walking into the hall of Winterfell, walking passed the fearsome Northern Lords who wanted his head, knowing the very real possibility that he was walking to a fiery death; all to keep his word, his sister’s word, “why?”

Jaime replied, “I could no longer live with myself. What I did, what I was about to do. So I did what I needed to do, what I think was the right thing to do. It does not take back the crimes I have done for _family_ all those years, but it would have to be enough,” faint furrows formed between his brows.

Daenerys regarded the man before her, “you are not the Oathbreaker everyone thinks you are, Ser Jaime. You are just a man who has had to make a terrible choice and you chose the lesser of two evils,” she watched his eyes fill with gratefulness for her words and soften as he looked at her, “and I respect that,”

A comfortable silence filled the room and he did not make to stand or leave again. And she knew he would not. Unless his Queen commanded it.

“Will you tell about the day I took the crown?” she asked, looking at him expectantly.

He looked surprised she would ask him, and she surprised herself, “I did not travel with the King to King’s Landing. I came before them, on the fastest horse I could find,”

“Why?” she asked.

He was not looking at her, “I needed to see Cersei,”

She felt a tingle at the way he had whispered his sister’s name, so full of love as well as hate.

“And I saw her. As I rode into King’s Landing, of course they had let me in, I was alone and with one hand. What threat could I be? I rode to the Red Keep and went to the throne room. There she was, beautiful as she always has been but she was angry at me, for leaving. I could see it in her eyes. Then I told her we needed to speak alone but she ‘wouldn’t grant me the honour’.” He scoffed, “so I told her she needed to surrender and she would live, her child would live. I told her that we would be allowed to live the rest of our days as common peasants anywhere she would like.”

Daenerys stiffened. She had not known that Queen Cersei had been with child. She did not need him to tell her whose child it could be; what he gave up to keep his word.

“She told me how stupid and naïve I am to think the Dragon Queen would pardon us. But I have known you and I told her as much and begged her again to surrender. But she didn’t listen to me. She told me how I have betrayed our family and her.

Then word came of the King’s approaching armies, with the Dragons. She commanded the remaining soldiers to leave to defend the city. Of course Ser Gregor Clegane remained by her side but Cersei sent him away with orders to kill you and the King. When we were alone, for a moment I thought I had my sister back again. She hugged me and kissed me,” a flash of happiness crossed his face but it was gone as soon as it came, “and then she stabbed me. I knew then I was never going to see my sweet sister again. I had lost her, somewhere in the war; in the great game of thrones. So I drew my sword and Cersei just scorned at me. She hated me. I think even as she bled out in my arms, she did not believe that I had done it,”

“The child…” Daenerys murmured.

Jaime averted her eyes, “the Maester told me later she was not with child,” he scoffed, “Cersei always said I was the stupidest Lannister,”  

“I am sorry,” Daenerys said. It was all she could say and even then, she knew they were just words. She had heard those words herself, many times and words could do nothing for a pain like that.

“Are you?” he frowned, “that Cersei is dead,”

She held his gaze, “I am sorry you had to kill the woman you truly love,”

Jaime did not make to agree or disagree, he merely told her, “she is my sister,”

“But you still love her,” Daenerys stood, “you loved her and you had to kill her and I am sorry,”

Ser Jaime stared at her, stunned. She went to the side and poured herself a glass, as she brought it to her lips, she heard him say, “you would understand what it’s like to make difficult choices, wouldn’t you?” It was bold of him; to presume what his Queen know or did not know but she did not feel angry with him. She paused before draining the cup.

_Yes, for I too had killed a man I loved._ But she does not tell him that, “more than you know,” she said quietly instead, her back still to him. She said it so softly she was not sure if he had heard.

But he did, “I am sorry,” He echoed and she felt the strange understanding and respect that had developed between them, warm her and she cherished it. 

“Did you tell the King about this?” she asked him, turning to see him already standing, a step away from the table and closer to her.

Jaime shook his head slowly, “no,” he chuckled bitterly then scoffed, “there was nothing to tell. The King is as honourable as his father, Ned Stark. I looked not merely an Oathbreaker and Kingslayer then but a Kinslayer as well. And the King judged me guilty as his father did-“

Daenerys felt the skin on her neck prickled and she interrupted him coldly, “careful Ser Jaime,” he did not look surprised or intimidated but he bowed respectfully nonetheless, “he is still your King,” she glared, “that would be all,” gone was her soft tone, replaced by the Queenly mask and she only had commands for him.

“Yes, my Queen,” he walked to the door.

Then something occurred to her, something she had been wondering since she saw that he was guarding the door of her chambers, “Ser Jaime,” he stopped at the door and turned to her, “why did you join the Queensguard when you could have been Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West? Lord Tyrion had always thought that was what you would have done if I were to be Queen,”

His emerald eyes then held her with an uncomfortable intensity that would have made any ordinary women blush or avert his eyes but Daenerys was no ordinary woman. She waited patiently, meeting his gaze with her own piercing one, “for you, My Queen,” she blinked and could only stare at him. When she finally dropped her gaze, he bowed at her before quickly turning to open the door and left.

She pondered his words then poured another glass of wine and drained it quickly.

“I never thought I would see my Queen try to match my drinking,”

She turned to see Lord Tyrion entering through the adjoining door.

“I did not give you leave to enter,” she told him calmly, ignoring his jape.

“I did knock,” Tyrion pointed out. Then they both turned as they heard a muffled shout through the door. It gradually became clearer and then door burst open to reveal Prince Jaehaerys, “now _that_ is not knocking,” the Hand bowed, “My Prince,”

Jaehaerys turned to regard the Lord Hand with his nose in the air. He does not seem fond of the Hand. Daenerys stifle an amused smile at her son’s haughty expression as she approached him.

“Mother!” his haughty expression melted away to joy as he saw his mother, raising his hands, wanting to be picked up. She picked him up, almost keeling over with his unexpected weight. As she gazed at her son, her heart ached acutely at the thought of how Jaehaerys must have felt growing up without knowing his mother; he would lay in bed wondering what kind of person his mother was, how her voice sounded, how it would feel like to have someone to stroke his hair and sing to him as he fell asleep. She understood, for those were the things she had wondered when she was a young motherless child.

She sighed, pressing a kiss to his silver downy hair and cradling her son to her body tightly.

“Well, if I could-“ Tyrion began.

“Go away,” Jaehaerys craned his neck to look at Tyrion.

“Don’t be rude to Lord Tyrion. He is Hand to the King and Queen,” she chided Jaehaerys gently and he wrinkled his nose in disdain at being told off, hanging his head.

She looked at him expectantly. She watched Jaehaerys slowly lift his gaze to meet hers through his silver hair that fell into his eyes, “I am sorry,” Jaehaerys said, glancing at Tyrion. To her surprise, Tyrion laughed so suddenly and loudly that he had choked on his wine.

She turned to him incredulously, “and it is only the Mother of Dragons who could tame the little dragon,” Tyrion declared.

Daenerys frowned, “has Jon not chided him?”

Tyrion shrugged, “the King mostly tempered the Prince’s little acts of mischief with love but believe me your Grace, the lack of chiding is not from the absence of effort.”

“Have you been a tyrannical Crown Prince?” she turned to Jaehaerys, prodding him in the rib gently, tickling him. She smiled as her son squirmed away, screaming joyfully. When he was breathless from laughter, she looked him in the eye and said, “As a dragon, you must protect the others. Not intimidate them,”

“I’m not! And how can I protect them when I am only so little?” Jaehaerys protested and Daenerys raised her brows, wondering where he had gotten such a feisty attitude.

“You’re a dragon,” she told him calmly, “even a little dragon, can protect others,”

Jaehaerys clamped his mouth shut upon seeing his Mother’s serious expression.

“You must listen to your King Father, the Hand, the Maesters and all those who would teach and guide you, do you understand me, Jaehaerys? Then you will learn and be a good King,”

He nodded, “yes Mother,”

She smiled then, pressing a kiss atop his head, basking in the sound of his giggles. Jaehaerys then reached for her hair and began playing with them. Then upon orders from Daenerys, the wet nurse brought some toys for the Prince to play as she spoke to the Hand about said Prince.

She learnt from the Hand that the Prince’s day was normally filled with lessons of all kinds and she was pleased that her son had received lessons that were mindful and respectful of both his mother and father’s past.

Jaehaerys normally spent the day at all his lesson. He had language lessons with Missandei, learning to speak, read and write in the Westerosi common tongue, High Valyrian as well as Dothraki, the latter only for speaking. Then he would proceed to learn the history and songs of the Seven Kingdoms from Maester Samwell. A meereeneese scholar was also brought across the narrow sea to teach the Prince about the history and culture of Essos, which the Prince would rule.

After watching the other boys sparring in the yard, the Prince had insisted to be taught and he was taught the way of the Westerosi knight by Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah and the wielding of swords, knives and spear by Greyworm. Also he had recently picked up horseback riding on a small pony after befriending one of her bloodriders and member of her Queensguard, Aggo. She had laughed when Tyrion told her how the Prince had tricked Aggo into teaching him to ride in the limited Dothraki he had learnt. But Aggo had enjoyed the lessons with the Prince so much, he had told Tyrion of his intentions to eventually teach the spirited young Khalakka (prince) how to shoot from horseback and fight from horseback, when he is older.

Daenerys nodded her approval; that she knew she would always give if Jaehaerys was happy and safe.

For a moment, the solar was filled with only the laughter of the young Prince. Then Tyrion spoke, “you spoke with Jaime.” It was not a question and Daenerys turned to him with a raised brow, “I was looking for him,” he explained further, “and Missandei told me you were speaking with him,”

Daenerys knew he wanted to know what they spoke of and she decided to humour her Hand. And she could think of no harm for him to know, “he swore me his sword,”

Tyrion raised both brows, “Jaime? He hates taking vows,” she could feel his eyes on her expression of nonchalance, “but he took one more, why?”

“He felt the need to swear his sword to me in person,” she replied truthfully.

Tyrion frowned, seemingly in disapproval for his brother’s behaviour, “it shouldn’t make a difference, he is serving the _crown_ ,”

“There seem to be a clear distinction between the Queensguard and the Kingsguard,” Daenerys pointed out.

Tyrion worried his beard at his chin for a moment before replying, “yes, it is the case,”

Daenerys raised a brow in question.

“The King was not… particularly concerned about details of his Kingsguard. He would probably have dismissed his own Kingsguard to protect the Prince and you if I had not spoken against it,” Tyrion said, “and with the Dothraki only willing to protect you, it seemed appropriate to separate the two,”

“Who presides as Lord Commander?” Daenerys asked.

“At the moment, no one. Ser Jorah presides as acting Lord Commander of the Queensguard, given his ability to converse with the Dothraki and Ser Rodrik Karstark as acting Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. They are not formally named Lord Commanders and do not sit on the small council,”

“And the Prince?”

“The King had allocated Ser Brandon Umber and Ser Wyate Manderly of the Kingsguard to be the Prince’s personal guards,” Tyrion replied.

Daenerys frowned, “only 2?”

Then Tyrion told her all about the havoc her smart but mischievous son had been up to since the day he could walk. He could and would often sneak past his wet nurse and the many Kingsguard members who have been charged with protecting him. He had apparently done so, more for the thrill than an actual need to get rid of his entourage. Eventually, they realised that Ser Brandon and Ser Wyate were only ones able to keep pace with the Prince so they became the Prince’s personal guards. Having a large entourage running after or looking for the Prince through the Red Keep also proved chaotic after having more than 2 of such occurrences in a day.

Daenerys smiled fondly at her son, “I suppose one such incident occurred last night,”

Tyrion nodded, “for as long as I remember, the Prince has always spoken of riding the dragons one day,”

Jaehaerys perked up at the mention of dragons and Daenerys felt a stab at her heart as a flash of fear crossed the Prince’s face.

“Jaehaerys, come here,” Daenerys called. The Prince obliged, setting down his wooden wolf and stood in front of his mother. She placed a hand on the side of his face and neck, “are you afraid of the dragons?”

Jaehaerys bit his lips, hesitating before he nodded, averting her eyes.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” she told him.

When he spoke next, his voice was soft, “Drogon was _so_ angry with me,”

Daenerys smiled sadly, “my sweet Jaehaerys,” she pulled him into a hug, feeling him nuzzle his little face into her chest, “you upset Drogon when you rode him. _Iā zaldrīzes mērī mirre gūrogon mēre kipagīros_ (a dragon would only ever take one rider),”

Jaehaerys little perfect lips made a ‘o’ in realisation and it was then that Daenerys, again, felt her failure as a mother; evident by the Prince’s ignorance about dragons, the very sigil of their house, “will I ever ride a dragon?”

She paused. She had not seriously considered breeding her dragons simply because she did not know how. She always thought it a natural occurrence if it were to happen. But now it occurred to her that without breeding her dragons, her children and her children’s children might never know the joy of riding dragons, having one of their own and eventually, they would never know dragons. The Targaryens would be vulnerable once again. As she had once been.

_We would be just like everyone else._

She looked at the lovely, perfect face of her son and knew she simply could not let that happen, “you will, Jaehaerys. You will know a dragon as your own and you will ride your dragon across your Kingdoms,” Jaehaerys’ face lit up and Daenerys knew she would do anything simply to see her son’s smile again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No Jon/Dany this chapter but I feel the Jaime thing have to be addressed. Would it lessen the hate filled comments/ reviews if I say there may be Jon/Dany next chapter? ;) 
> 
> I really really really appreciate and thank all of you for being so invested in the story and really looking into the details that I agonised over :) I definitely did not expect the stir that the Jaime/ Dany/ Jon thing caused but I guess I would not expect anything less from Jonerys fans or GoT fans in general. I would love to reply to all the threads and give some answers/ do something about the distress the Jaime thing had caused, but I have replied all that I can and left out the ones which would force me to give away the story if I were to reply adequately to it. Some questions you guys have will be answered in time but no promises that it would not be disappointing, as the previous chapter evidently was, to some of you, but to each his/ her own : ) Thanks for sticking by this story (if you are still here)!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**_Ser Jaime Lannister_ **

He closed the door behind him quietly. He could feel Jorah’s eyes on him but he ignored him and put on his helm stoically. Jaime had never felt this stupid in his life, not even when Cersei had named him the stupidest Lannister that ever lived. Cersei always tended to mix honour and doing the right thing with being stupid.

 _For you_ , _My Queen._

That was what he had told the Queen when she had looked at him with those beautiful lilac eyes and asked him why he would stay in the capital instead of going home to the Rock.

Jaime had spent his younger years around Targaryen and they were admittedly a very attractive bunch but Jaime would not hesitate to declare Queen Daenerys Targaryen the most beautiful of all. She was not merely attractive, she took his breath away every time he saw her and she had a spirit and heart that demanded not just loyalty but love from all those who would follow her. She demanded and he gave.

When they had first met, he was sure she knew who he was; at least by reputation. But even then, although there was caution, there was no judgment in her eyes when she first saw him and he knew she had a pure and kind heart that was not to be mistaken for ignorance. He had never met someone like the Queen. He did not think someone like that existed.

He had, unwittingly, stared dumbly at her as she asked him. He was intrigued by the way her lilac eyes shone with genuine curiosity and as it was before the war, he could not see hate or disdain in them. _Kingslayer_ , the people called him. She only called him Ser Jaime.

He took in the way her long silver hair flowed down her back, the way the maroon gown she was wearing flowed gracefully as she moved, revealing the flawless alabaster skin of her waist once in a while.

When he realised she was still staring at him expectantly, he had blurted out the first answer that came to his mind; the truth. Her face barely twitched at his abrupt confession but he saw something shift in her eyes before she finally dropped her gaze. Then he had fled the room.

He enjoyed talking to Daenerys. She did not merely listen to him, he felt she understood him and why he did the things he did. No one ever did. Not his father, not his brother, not even his sister and lover, Cersei.

_He entered the cold damp hall of Winterfell to the calls for his head from the Northern Lords. He looked at the high table to see Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard son that looked more like Ned Stark than any of his sons named Stark. The Bastard even had the same look in his grey eyes as he laid his eyes on him, the same judgment; guilty._

_Then Jaime tore his eyes from the King in the North to see the Dragon Queen sitting beside him, looking every inch a Queen. She was wearing a white winter coat, the furs on her shoulders and framing her face were white as well. Her telling silver Targaryen hair tied in an intricate braid. Then he looked to the Queen’s side to see his brother, Tyrion. Jaime gave him a nod and Tyrion returned it._

_He was watching the King in the North contemplate the suggestions of the Northern Lords when the Queen spoke to convene the discussion in private, with her council and the leaders of the North. The Northern Lords had objected but a raised hand from their King and they fell silent as the Queen left the table with the King in the North beside her. He was impressed, truth be told; a Bastard rising the ranks so quickly to gain command of the North. But Jaime knew the King in the North had no love for him, as Jaime knew was in his right. He did not have to wait long till he was summoned into the chambers._

_As he entered, he glanced around the room. He held his brother’s and Brienne’s gaze a moment longer. Then his eyes settled on the Queen, sitting at the head of the table, looking at him unblinkingly. He felt himself straighten just slightly as he met and held her gaze. Her eyes were guarded in that moment, revealing nothing but seemed to be seeing everything. It unnerved him._

_Then she surprised him when she dismissed everyone but him. He watched her as everyone left with much hesitation and reluctance. Eventually, the door clicked shut and he was alone in the room with the Dragon Queen; probably the most dangerous woman in Westeros at the moment, edging over Cersei with the telling presence of the dragons overhead. Their intermittent screech and beat of heavy wings made beads of sweat gather on the nape of Jaime’s neck._

_Jaime realised this would be the first time he saw her in such close proximity and under a less chaotic situation than war or war councils. Jaime would be a fool not to admit she was very beautiful._

_“Tell me why you are here,” her voice was feminine, lilt but strong and firm; the voice of a Queen, “tell it true,”_

_“I am here to aid in the war against the dead, I am keeping my word,” Jaime replied simply._

_“Your sister’s word,”_

_“The word of the crown,” Jaime corrected._

_“The army the crown promised is not here,” the Dragon Queen stated. It was not a question. Everyone knew Cersei had gone back on her word when they saw only him._

_“Cersei lied,” Jaime closed his eyes._

_When he opened them, the Dragon Queen was still staring at him, her face unreadable. Then her features hardened barely noticeably, “I should send her your blackened bones,”_

_Jaime stiffened. She meant to burn him. She will burn everyone…_

_He did not reply her, he couldn’t._ You will burn with all the other traitors! I will burn them all! _A voice from a distant memory came to him then and he felt his hand begin to tremble._

_Then suddenly, she spoke again, “I will not have you killed,”_

_Jaime was speechless. His enemy had just allowed to be in a room with him alone and spared his life. It was not the conversation he was expecting, “How do you know I am not here to kill you? Like what half your council probably told you,”_

_The Dragon Queen merely looked at him, “you would have done it already,” he knew then she took a risk but for what? What did she gain from taking this risk of trusting him? Jaime frowned. He did not know what she was thinking or what her intentions were at all, “I could see you believed Jon at the dragonpit,”_

Jon. Not Lord Snow. _“Of course I do, I’m not blind or stupid. I saw that thing you brought,” Jaime felt a shiver run up his spine as he recalled the rotting creature._

_“You made the decision to pull the Lannister armies back from Casterly Rock and led the attack on Highgarden, did you not?” she asked and he knew it was rhetorical; she knew he did, “you are a capable commander,”_

_He stood in muted silence, wondering where she was going with a compliment._

_“You will command and organise the armies for the coming war,” an order._

_So that was it. But Jaime was still puzzled; she was risking her life for a possible alliance with a capable commander. It did not add up._

_He raised both brows, “I don’t think the Northern army or any army here will listen to me,”_

_“They will listen to me,” she said, “and you will advise me, as your brother does. But your brother…” she stood, “Lord Tyrion is a learned man but evidently, not in warfare. But you are.”_

_Jaime knew then that this was no simple women. She had the wisdom to know what she needed, what she was missing in the men who counselled her and could see what was useful to her when it came knocking. That was already more than what Jaime could say for Cersei. More importantly, she had courage. Cersei would never have dismissed her men and guards to be in a room with an enemy and whoever who wasn’t a Lannister was Cersei’s enemy. She would never consider the idea of making friends, of making peace. The Dragon Queen, on the other hand, played the game, a dangerous one but she was winning._

_Jaime could already feel a growing respect for the Dragon Queen._

_“So will you join us, and advise me in the war against the dead?”_ or burn _. Jaime could hear the second part of it without her saying it. She did not need to; the cold threatening look in her eyes told him as much._

_Jaime let out a breath. She had earned his respect, offered him a place on her council and threaten him all in one short conversation. He inclined his chin and nodded, “in the war against the dead,”_

_“Only in war against the dead,” she concurred and he held her gaze, not daring to blink or look away. Such was the gamble the Queen was willing to take to gain a capable commander; all to give the living an edge over the dead, “and we will not lose,” a command._

_She turned away from him then to stand behind her chair, with her back to him as she watched the snow fall outside the window. He shifted from one foot to the next, wondering if that was his cue to leave._

_“Kingslayer,” she said as she turned to face him again, her eyes a piercing lilac even in the dimly lit room._

_He did not react. He was beginning to think he was numb to it. But he noticed something about the way she said it, different from all the others. It took him another moment to realise she was not addressing him, she was merely stating a word, considering it._

_“You were Kingsguard to my Father, King Aerys,” she stated, not looking at him but staring into the fire crackling in the fireplace. It was not a question but Jaime nodded, knowing, for once, where the conversation was going, “you killed him, did you not?” she tore her eyes from the fireplace and looked at him, her eyes strangely blank._

_“I did,” he clenched his jaw and felt himself instinctively standing straighter. He did nothing wrong and with their recently formed alliance, Jaime did not want the Dragon Queen, of all people, to think him an Oathbreaker, “the King-“_

_“I know what my father was, I know what he did,” she said calmly and he was stunned into silence from the admission._

_Jaime could not find words, his tongue felt like lead in his mouth as he looked at the daughter of the King he killed; who was nothing like her father. She loved her people and in turn, will be loved by thousands._ _He had never seen that in a monarch in all his years in the Kingsguard. In Aerys, he only saw madness. In Robert, he saw an emptiness and sometimes, a pain that did not go away till his dying breath. In Joffrey, he saw a trace of Aerys, some madness and disdain for him, a Kingslayer. In Tommen, he saw fear and uncertainty. In Cersei, as the years went by, her love for him turned to hate._

_“Sit,” she nodded to the chair, the furthest from her across the table, “tell me about that day,” she said. There was no command in her voice and Jaime took a step forward, pulling out a chair and sank into it. Then he told her, watching her face as he recounted to her what he had re-lived in his dreams every night. He found himself memorising and committing to memory every flicker in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as she heard of her father’s command to destroy King’s Landing, the slight raised furrow emerging between her brows as he told her how he had stabbed her father in his back and slit his throat._

_He watched her look away from him as he finished and gaze into the fire with a look that could only be a disappointment that Jaime could not even begin to understand. Jaime had killed the King and his daughter did not reproach him or hate him. In a way, Jaime felt a burden lift off his chest as he told her what he did; a thing that man and Gods would curse him for._

_How noble a Queen she must be to take the man, who murdered her father and whose family brought an end to the Targaryen’s line, as an ally; all for the people, for the survival of the realm? For no matter how much of a monster the King was, Jaime knew he was still her father. And here the Queen must sit, opposite her father’s murderer, putting aside her personal vengeance for the realm that, Jaime had learnt over the years, was rotten to the core._

_She is truly too good for this world._

_A melancholy then fell on the Queen that Jaime felt the strange urge to see removed from her._

_“You remind me of your brother,” Jaime told her then._

_The Queen looked up, “Viserys?”_

_“No,” he shook his head, “Rhaegar, the Prince of Dragonstone,”_

_The Queen turned away, “so I have been told,” her eyes then darted to him and stayed, “you were there when your father murdered his children,”_

_Jaime remembered. He had saw the bloodied bodies, presented at Robert’s feet. Jaime had his hand twitch to his sword when his father ordered the Mountain to kill the Targaryen, every last one of them. As Jaime watched the Mountain march out the throne room with his men, Jaime hesitated before he followed, his white cloak, although tainted with his King’s blood, heavy on his shoulders. But his father had stopped him, with a firm hand around his elbow, a stern look in his eyes. And Jaime had stayed, “I was, and it would haunt me for the rest of my days. As how I had stood by when the King had raped the Queen,”_

_The Queen’s face hardened and her clasped hand tightened as he told her and Jaime realised she never knew this; that the King would get aroused as he burned men alive, then he would go to the Queen and rape her. Jaime could still remembered the screams of the Queen and how his fellow Kingsguard had stopped him when Jaime had said they were sworn to protect the Queen._

_The Queen blinked then, before she turned to him. Jaime could not be sure but he thought her eyes were redder than before, although they were dry, “my father, the Mad King, saw to the end of the Targaryen line, as much as any of the other houses did. He could not have remained on the throne. Just as Viserys could never be a King,” Jaime blinked, he knew Viserys only as a child, he had not heard of madness in Viserys as well._

_“King Aerys wasn’t always mad,” he found himself telling her._

_She looked up._

_“He was a benevolent and generous king, for a time. He had great ambitions for the Seven Kingdoms,” Jaime said._

_“Did you know him then?” she asked softly._

_Jaime wished with all his heart in that moment he could tell her he did but he would not lie to her, “no,” her eyes fell, “what I know I heard from my father,”_

_“He was Hand to my father,”_

_Jaime nodded, “they were close friends in their youth, inseparable. And when Aerys became King, he made my father his Hand. The kingdoms prospered,” the repeat of history with Aerys’ daughter and Tywin Lannister’s son as Hand was not lost on Jaime. And now, Tywin Lannister’s other son had come to aid Aerys’ daughter._

_“For a time,” she echoed his earlier words._

_“For a time,” he agreed._

_It was quiet for a while, Queen Daenerys looking at the fire in the fireplace. Then she spoke, “They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods would toss a coin in the air…”_

_“And the world holds its breath to see how it would land,” Jaime finished, watching she locked eyes with him once again, “at least, now, we can thank the gods for the coin that landed right for the last Targaryen in this world,”_

_For the first time, he saw a hint of a smile on her lips._

 

**_Jon_ **

He stirred and shifted instinctively to stretch. Then he remembered his wounds too late. He groaned as sharp pain ran up the extensive burns on his back. He resolved to remain still then as he opened his eyes, wondering where he was for a moment before he remembered that this was Daenerys’ chambers. It was a place he had spent more of his time in than his own chambers. He made to sit up as he looked around the room. It was empty. It was already dark outside but the chambers were dimly lit by fresh candles by the wall.

 _Daenerys?_ He shifted to bring his feet to the ground, resolving to look for her. As he stood, gritting his teeth against the pain, he heard the door to the solar open. He waited. Then the door to the chambers opened to reveal his wife and Queen.

She looked beautiful in a foreign gown he had never seen her wear. Her shoulders were bare. The gown was loose around her torso, allowing glimpses of her waist and back as the fabric moved. Her hair was braided intricately behind her head, the rest of it flowing down her back. He watched her stoicism melt away into a smile when she saw him. He returned it instinctively, his heart thumping wildly in his chest at the thought that he could be reason for her smile.

“How do you feel?” she asked gently. He could help but sigh, his eyes closing as she cupped his cheek with a warm hand.

“Better now,” he replied, pushing into her touch, “where did you go?” he smiled, opening his eyes.

“The Tower of the Hand,” she replied, “I talked to Tyrion. And he told me about Dorne,”

Jon sighed.

He remembered the day he had allowed Tyrion to send ravens to all the Noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, to announce the coming of the New Targaryen Era. He had spent the better part of the day arguing with Tyrion that he would be King Regent and not King Regnant; resolving to rule only until Daenerys wake.

After that battle had been won, with Tyrion muttering something about him changing his mind eventually, they spoke of the announcement they would send to all the Houses by raven. He had allowed Tyrion to write the messages and when he had read it, with its content nothing short of commanding the noble houses to come to the capital and bend the knee to the crown, Jon knew that was not him.

He had always been a leader who was chosen by the people and never because he asked to be. But once chosen, Jon knew he would do everything in his power to do the best he can; to do right by the men who chose him. But he would never force anyone yield to him, much less _bend the knee_.

That was Daenerys. It was never him. She was a conqueror and she took what was hers, with fire and blood. And she was a good Queen; just and kind. He was Jon Snow, a bastard who was brought up knowing he could never ask for anything, who never asked for anything. But nevertheless, he wanted things. All his life he wanted to be Robb, future Lord of Winterfell and he wanted to be a Stark. And now he was neither for he was King and a Targaryen.

Upon much persuasion on Tyrion’s part that the words would be necessary, Jon had allowed the message to be sent and he had sat on the throne as the Lords of the Noble Houses bent their knees and swore their oaths to the crown. Then they had received Dorne’s reply, polite considering the message that was sent to them. Jon and Tyrion had both expected it.

For the longest time, Dorne had been an independent Kingdom, the only one Aegon the Conquerer had failed to conquer. Eventually, Dorne had joined to form the Seven Kingdoms but through marriage and then later, military alliance to seek vengeance. They have never bent the knee to any ruler because it was demanded. They were never conquered successfully. _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken_. Their words have never rang truer to Jon than in that moment.

Both Jon and Tyrion knew that there was little they could do and even less Jon would consider doing. Tyrion knew as well as him, if they marched on Dorne and attempted to take Dorne by force, thousands of people will die and it might not end in victory for the crown. Even with three dragons, Aegon the Conqueror could not break Dorne and Jon only had 2; one of which was becoming wilder and increasingly uncontrollable. They had then resolved to write back to Arianne Martell, the Lady of Dorne, to ask for their word for there to be an alliance.

The reply was agreeable to peace for now, until a true Targaryen ruler sits on the Iron Throne; then Dorne would be willing to discuss matters of alliance. _Never allegiance_. Jon noted. But that was where they had left it and Jon knew this state would not please Daenerys; not in the slightest if her reaction to his refusal to give the North to her at Dragonstone was any indication.

“Why didn’t you tell the people you are Aegon Targaryen, the trueborn son of the Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Iron Throne?” Daenerys asked gently, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“Because I never wanted the throne, Daenerys,” Jon replied honestly, “and ever since Bran told me, not a day went by that I felt a Targaryen. I will always be a Snow. Telling the people wouldn’t make a difference to me,”

Daenerys shifted on her feet and he knew she would argue, “But you have been a good King and the King the people have come to know; all the while without a birthright. _I_ need you to be Aegon Targaryen. A Queen needs a King-“

“Daenerys,” he interrupted then, “I _was_ the King, and now, no longer,” gently, he took her hand from his face and in between his. She closed her eyes in almost resignation and Jon would have thought so if he did not know for a fact that Daenerys was as stubborn as he was, “I have never liked being King. I have never cared for the games the High Lords played,”

“I know,” she told him quietly. Then she smiled, her hand clasping his, “then what do you care for, Jon Snow?”

Jon brought her hand to his lips, “Peace and safety, for the realm,” Jon said quietly against her skin, “and for you and Jaehaerys,” he pressed a kiss to her hand, his eyes on her.

He then frowned as he saw a telling look in her eyes that made him worry, “what is it?” he lowered her hand and muttered.

“Tyrion told me about the Dothraki,” Daenerys said, her free hand coming to rest of his shoulder, mindful of the wound on the back of it, “and the people they killed; the Northerners. I am sorry,”

He stiffened, “it is not your fault. And the Northerners and the Unsullied made sure the Dothraki wouldn’t cross the Neck,” he tried to catch her eye so she could see he meant it but she was not looking. He did not blame her, not in the slightest but he still remembered the horror he had felt when he heard of what the Dothraki had done, to his people. He had almost rip the crown from his head and dash to the stables but Tyrion had, yet again, spoken to him to not be rash, reminding him of what he had now; a son and a wife who needed him here.

She murmured, “I will make it good again,”

“What?” Jon raised his brows, “How?”

Daenerys was not looking at him and he felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He dreaded her words as she said it, still not meeting his eyes, “the Dothraki only follow the strong,” she explained, “I will take them back with Fire and Blood,”

His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins, “Daenerys…” a warning, “no,” he said firmly.

A sweet, almost playful smile, curled over her lips and she finally met his eyes, “with respect, your Grace, I don’t need your permission, I am a Queen,”

Despite the situation, Jon could not help but chuckled as he remembered their time together at Dragonstone. Despite the impending doom they probably faced at that time, thinking back, he thought those were the happiest days he has had in a long time; because it was in those days that he had fallen in love with Daenerys.

Jon remembered vividly when he had said those words to her. He was a King and he had meant it but at the same time, he knew it was his Northern pride talking as well, “Daenerys,” he said sternly, pursing his lips under his beard to stop the spreading smile. He wanted her to take what he was trying to say seriously, but he knew she saw him smile for her own widened. She touched her forehead to his and he could feel her warm breath on his lips. His objections died in his throat.

“Jon,” she replied softly, her lips barely an inch from his.

Then he remembered what he was trying to say, “Daenerys, don’t go. Send the men instead,” he breathed out.

She shook her head, “no more men need to die for my mistake,”

Jon balked, “you’ll go alone?” he withdrew from her, only mildly feeling the pain on his back through the horror.

“I will have Drogon with me,” Daenerys told him, leaning closer, her eyes focussed on his lips.

But he withdrew from her again, still shocked that she would do this, “I will go with you,”

“You can barely move with your wound,” Daenerys sighed.

She was right. His body had allowed him to ignore the pain of the burn as he tried to save his son but once that was over, the pain was crippling in a way he had never felt and could not bear, “I will, for you,”

Daenerys shook her head firmly, “no, you will rest,”

“And while I’m _resting_ ,” he growled, “my wife will be at war,” he made to stand but he saw a flash of anger in Daenerys’ eyes before she pushed him back, hard. He fell back on the bed, on his arse, surprised. Before he could make to stand again, Daenerys hiked up her dress just enough for her to climb onto the bed, straddling him. She lowered herself in his lap then and his mind went blank.

Letting her dress fall around them on the bed, she pressed her lips to his and he responded eagerly, melting against her gentle, passionate lips. There was no doubt in Jon’s mind that he had missed her terribly.

“It’s not a war. The Dothraki can’t fight a dragon,” she whispered into his mouth before he pulled her closer with a hand on the nape of her neck. She tasted like sweet wine and Jon could not seem to have enough of the taste, her taste and the feel of her soft lips, melded against his. His hand shifted down from the nape of her neck and wandered under her dress and flattening on the bare smooth skin of her back. Her back was burning against his palm and he felt Daenerys suck in a breath at the feel of his, probably very cold, hand. His other hand caressed her bare shoulder gently before he snaked it around her waist, holding her to him. He felt a shiver run down his body and settle in his breeches as she moaned deeply into his mouth.

“Don’t go, Daenerys,” he told her when her lips left his just to take his bottom lip firmly between hers, her tongue leaving a tantalising hot trail over it before his own met hers. He was mildly aware of her hands between them, making quick work of the knots of his breeches.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his, her eyes guiding her fingers in working the knots. Jon almost laughed, knowing he had lost Daenerys from the conversation but the laughter died in his throat as she yanked down his untied breeches till they were just low enough.

“I can’t lose you again,” he croaked, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder as she shifted herself so the heat of her core was on him. He groaned as he realised she wore nothing under her revealing dress. Daenerys threw back her head while she moved her hips tantalizingly, rubbing her core down the length of him, “Daener-“

“You won’t,” she whispered fiercely, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she rose on her knees, taking him in her hand. Then she guided him into her, lowering herself down his length; her delicious heat embraced all of him. Their moans filled the room. Daenerys pressed her forehead to his, her hands on his shoulders as she moved her hips. He could contain his moan at the sweet friction.

Jon made to shift himself so he could rise to meet her hips but he grunted as pain spread over his back and shoulders at the attempt, “don’t move,” her voice trembled as she grinded her hips on him, slowly.

He nodded, his breath coming quick and shallow. He pressed her body closer to him as he craned his neck up to kiss the pulse point of her neck fiercely then licking to soothe the reddening skin. Then he withdrew to look at her, eagerly drinking in the beautiful sight of her. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her pink lips parted just so; she was lost in the throes of passion. _How could someone be so beautiful?_ “Daenerys,” he wanted to see her eyes.

Her eyes opened and she looked at him. Her eyes were wide, her dilated pupils making them almost black. And they were, undeniably, filled with something he dared not believe such a beautiful, perfect being would feel for him. _Gods he loved her, so much._

He wanted to say something but could not seem to find the right words; there seemed to be no words that could describe how he felt for her at that moment, not even a little. Her brows rose and she smiled at him, as if assuring him. _She knew_. She knew what he felt and what he was trying, but failing, to tell her. He need not tell her; she would always know for they were two parts of a whole. He sighed, pulling her down to meet his lips. He wanted to give her his heart, his life and his love; everything he had he gave to her.

*

The air was already heavy with the musky scent of their love making when Daenerys convulsed around him, his name escaping her lips in a moan and Jon followed. She collapsed against him as he clung onto her, their bodies still melded together as one. Carefully, he leant back on the soft pillows, wincing slightly as the pillow touched his dressing but eventually, he sagged against it gratefully with her still atop him. Their chest heaved in time, their hearts beating against the other, together.

Jon reluctantly removed an arm from around her as he brought his hand to her face, gently pushing away a strand of hair from her face. Daenerys looked up at him then, her eyes dark.

“I love you, Jon,” 

He felt his heaving chest still, his heart hammering against it. A lump formed in his throat and he felt his eyes prickle but there were no tears. He had always felt it but he had never heard it, not from her, not when he could understand it. At that moment, Jon hated the way his stomach knotted and the way his jaw trembled.

Daenerys’ look turned to one of feign reproach as she place a hand on his cheek, worrying the beard on his cheek, “ _I love you_ ,”

Jon blinked, realising he had not replied her, “I-I know. I mean I heard- I-“ She laughed, leaning forward to kiss him. He returned it before pulling away, “I love you,”

“Mmm,” she smiled, leaning forward to kiss him again. Then she placed her head on his chest, over his heart and she was quiet. Jon, his hand still on her back under her dress, began drawing lazy circles over her skin.

Then the memory of their conversation before their love making came back to him. His hand on her back stilled at that thought and she lifted her head to meet his eyes curiously, “when are you leaving?” he asked.

“On the morrow,”

His breath hitched and Daenerys ducked her head, pressing a kiss to the scar on his chest. He felt his arm tightened around her as he said, “I will come with you,”

“No,” she replied as she sat up in his lap, “I will not have you fall from Rhaegal,”

“I will not fall,” Jon promised. She frowned, still not convinced and Jon knew he had to make her see for he could not stay here, all the while fearing for her life, “you would follow me,” it was not a question, “if I were the one to go,”

Daenerys’ eyes fell, “even if it kills me,” she whispered, admitting and realising.  

“Even if it kills me,” Jon nodded.

“But what if you were to-“

Jon brought his hands to hold her face gently, “Daenerys, I will not let myself fall. I am strongest when I am with you,”

He felt her jaw tensed under his hands. Then she admitted softly, “and I you,”

Jon nodded then he looked at her questioningly. When she met his eyes, she nodded, once. Her eyes already filling with regret.

“And Jaehaerys?” she murmured, “he’s only so young,”

He caressed her cheek with his thumb, “we would return quickly. Nothing would happen to us,”

She leaned into his touch. She seem to relax then, letting her body rest atop his; sleep quickly claiming her.

Jon pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “I won’t let anything happen to you again,” he whispered a promise, more for himself than her as he breathed in the scent of her hair. Jon had never thought himself a weak man but when it came to Daenerys, she could make him strong beyond measure, as he told her, and yet, weak in the blink an eye. And all she had to do was _be_ and he would crumble. He croaked as his heart wrenched at the thought of having her back only to lose her, “I _can’t_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all the constructive comments and reviews for the last chapter! 
> 
> To those who are asking: this is a Jonerys story and that is the future of this fic. No, this is not a fic to piss Jonerys fans off. And yes, I think I do understand how tags work. Thank you : )


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**_Tyrion_ **

This is a mistake.

How he had let things come to this was beyond him.

He knew there was no convincing the Queen against going herself to bring the Dothraki to heel. Tyrion did not see another way around this either, which was why he had merely nodded mutely as she declared her decision made. But knowing he cannot change his Queen’s mind did not mean he thought it wise. And he knew this without his brother Jaime, charging into his chambers early in the morning; demanding why had he allowed the Queen to do such an inadvisable thing.

“Brother,” Tyrion had yawned as he sat up in bed, feigning ignorance to what Jaime seemed to be so riled up about. Although, he had been awake as he pondered the very situation with the Dothraki.

“Why is the Queen fighting the Dothraki herself?” Jaime demanded loudly.

Tyrion yawned again. He glanced at the beauty sleeping beside him. He does not know her name but at least he would let her sleep. She deserved the rest after last night. He rose from his bed, ignoring his brother as he grabbed his doublet and left the room.

Jaime followed. Tyrion could almost hear a snarl coming from his brother; who had never looked more like the Lion of Casterly Rock than at this moment. Their father would be proud. Tyrion bit his tongue as that thought came to his mind. Their father had always been a sensitive topic between the brothers and especially now, he knew Jaime would not appreciate Tyrion bringing him up.

As he turned to look at Jaime properly once they were in the solar, he raised a brow. Jaime was so angry his neck was red, his green eyes held a look that could kill, his nostrils flaring.

“It’s good to see you too, Brother,” Tyrion yawned.

Jaime seethed in response, “good? Is allowing your Queen to ride off to her death in battle what you deem good counsel?”

Tyrion sighed, “it is the only way. The Dothraki would only follow her again if she has beaten them in battle; to show them she is strong, worthy of their loyalty,”

“It is not the only way!” Jaime was shouting again, “she could very well send all her Unsullied, they would defeat the Dothraki as did the Three Thousand at Qohor!”

Tyrion raised both brows in surprise. His brother had never been a man keen to learn from the books, he could not read very well when he was younger. It is a feat in itself that he was quoting history, “you know about the Three Thousand at Qohor?” it was a legendary battle, one where the Dothraki had fallen to the Unsullied.

Jaime let out a sigh of frustration, closing his eyes as if to calm himself just enough to speak, “Tyrion, you have to stop her,”

“She does not want any more men to die for her,” Tyrion explained calmly.

“Fuck that!” Tyrion flinched visibly as Jaime slammed his right arm on the table, spilling the half cup of wine on it, “soldiers die. They are soldiers because they are to follow the command of their Queen and die if need be. And her soldiers, the men who follow her, they would be happy to die for her-“

“She has never allowed innocent men to die if she can help it, soldiers or not,” Tyrion interrupted, “you know she would never,” Jaime seemed to calm then as he sat, closing his eyes. Tyrion knew Jaime knew the Queen well, after their unusual but blossoming friendship, “that is why you follow her, is it not?” he narrowed his eyes, hoping against hope he can gain some insight into their friendship; it was the one thing that puzzled Tyrion to this day.

“She’s too weak to ride into battle after staying abed for 4 years…” Jaime murmured. Then he looked up then, “I did not join the Queensguard to let my Queen die,” he stood suddenly, the chair he sat on toppling over. Then his brother was gone, his white cape of the Queensguard flapping behind him.

Tyrion rolled his eyes and sighed, sinking into the chair. This was madness. Tyrion knew. No monarch in history would risk their life for something like this. He had heard of monarchs setting off to bring Kingdoms to heel, to beat them into submission to the Crown. But he had never heard of a monarch who would risk everything just to protect the innocent from harm. She would gain nothing from it, not even an army for she would be sending them away.

But that was who Daenerys was, from the very beginning. She ruled with an iron fist and her gentle heart. It was the reason she had stayed in Essos for as long as she did, to free the slaves, the innocent. Even if it would cost her everything, she would fight for her people. And no matter how much unease it brought her Hand, her King and her soldiers who love her, she would always do what she thought was best for her people. That was what would make her a good Queen and what Tyrion saw in her, to make him want to follow her. Jorah was right when he had told Tyrion, centuries come and go without a person like Daenerys Targaryen coming into the world.

That, however, did not mean she did not frustrate him. As she did now.

Tyrion was sure, her act of riding her dragon into battle to bring the Dothraki to heel would go down in the history books. But as the most glorious and self-sacrificing act a Monarch had ever done or the most stupid, Tyrion was not sure.

Tyrion sighed again, finding himself pondering the situation with the Dothraki; wondering if there truly was another way as his brother had suggested. It was difficult but not impossible to change the Queen’s mind once she had decided on it; if Tyrion could suggest a better solution to the problem at hand. Jaime’s solution was possible but not without the approval from the Queen, which she would never give. It’s not as if they could-

Tyrion’s eyes widened as he turned to see the open door his Brother exited. He jumped off his seat and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Whoa, where are you off to?” Tyrion ran headlong into Bronn as he turned the corner.

“Did you see Jaime?” Tyrion demanded.

“Saw him walking to the Unsullied quarters-” Bronn replied.

Tyrion did not say more as he headed there immediately.

“Jaime!” he shouted as he entered the hall of the Unsullied quarters. It was empty. His heart sank.

His brother was going to get himself killed.

He turned and ran to the square by Traitor’s walk. His leg was cramping badly from the strain.

As he had feared, the square was filled with the remaining Unsullied soldiers, all suited and ready for battle. At the front of the army was his brother atop his horse.

“Jaime!” Tyrion panted, stopping at the gate of traitor’s walk. Jaime turned, frowning as he urged his horse forward to him, “what do you think you are doing?”

“What does it look like?” Jaime raised a perfect brow.

“You are a member of the Queensguard. You should be protecting your Queen, not commanding armies,” Tyrion said.

Jaime’s face turned strangely solemn, “I am protecting my Queen,”

“Did you get the Queen’s permission?” Tyrion demanded, hoping with every fibre of his being.

Jaime stayed silent.

“Mobilising the royal army without the Queen’s knowledge. That is treason, Jaime!” Tyrion whispered angrily but there was an air of nonchalance about his brother, “Jaime, she will kill you!” Tyrion hissed. For all Jaime seemed to know of the Queen, Tyrion knew then Jaime did not understand that the Queen would never tolerate betrayal; treason.

“If it would save her life, I don’t care,” Jaime replied simply, his face strangely calm as he turned his horse around and rode back to the Unsullied. Tyrion could strangle his brother, he really felt like he could; if he could only reach him.

“Lord Tyrion,”

Tyrion freeze. That was the last voice he wanted to hear. He turned to see his Queen, walking towards him, two of her Dothraki flanking her. She was clad in plain dark brown Dothraki clothes, complete with her long silver hair braided, embellished with small bells that rang as she walked. She looked confused but Tyrion was certain that would not be the look on her face when she realises.

“What is this?” she asked, the blank mask of a Queen on her face. She glanced at the Unsullied, gathered in the square just in front of the gates.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion bowed. He looked up to see her staring at him expectantly and he knew she wanted an answer, “we are mobilising the Unsullied,” Tyrion stated, trying not to look as if treason is being committed.

“Yes, I can see that,” she glanced at the square where the Unsullied were ready for battle, “whatever for?”

Tyrion bit his tongue. He knew he cannot lie to the Queen; she was too sharp for it and he did not have enough time to formulate a plausible lie to trick someone of this intellect-

“Lord Tyrion,” the Queen snapped, interrupting his thoughts, “whatever lie you are trying to come up with won’t work. I only want the truth,”

Tyrion sighed, “Jaime is mobilising the Unsullied to defend the Seven Kingdoms against the Dothraki,”

“On whose orders?” the Queen glowered. Tyrion pinched his lips together. _No one._ They both knew, “Qoy Qoyi, Qoralat mae (blood of my blood, seize him),” she said, her voice low.

“Your Grace, he-“ Tyrion stood in front of the Queen, trying to stop this before the Dothraki horselords could get to Jaime but he was roughly shoved aside by Aggo. The Queen’s face was an unreadable mask but fire burned in her eyes.

Tyrion turned to see the Dothraki unfasten a strap at their belt to wield their arakhs. Aggo approached Jaime, who had his back turned, still ahorse. He grabbed Jaime about the arm and yanked him off his horse while Kovarro grabbed the reins of the horse. Jaime cried out in surprise as he fell off his horse. Tyrion watched Jaime reach for his sword at his hip with his left hand but Aggo was quicker, his arakh rising to Jaime’s neck.

Jaime raised his golden right hand and parried the arakh away easily. He kicked Aggo in the middle and fluidly drew his sword with his left hand. Tyrion was surprised as Jaime turned to parry a strike from Kovarro and the two men engaged in a furious exchange of blows. Since Jaime turned Queensguard, he had spent his days, when he was not on duty, in the training yards. He was practicing to gain full capability of his left hand again after losing his right. It was also there that Jaehaerys saw Jaime practicing and commanded Jaime to teach him to fight. Tyrion could now see the effect of Jaime’s training; reminisce of the past when he had fought with his right.

Tyrion glanced to his side to see the Queen’s hands curl into fists, shaking with fury. She approached the fight.

Jaime was blocking Aggo’s strike from the top when he seemed to notice the Queen walking towards them. He paused and Aggo quickly kicked him in the middle. Jaime fell back into the dirt but was back on his feet quickly. Jaime held his sword at the ready, glancing at Aggo and Kovarro before his eyes settled on the Queen again. Jaime’s eyes filled with realisation before he dropped his sword. Aggo and Kovarro wasted no time as they grabbed Jaime’s left arm and twisted it viciously to his back. Then they kicked him behind the knee and he fell on his knees before the Queen; his eyes never leaving the Queen.

Tyrion approached as the Queen took a step closer to Jaime.

“You would mobilise my army without my consent,” she said, her face an expressionless mask, “that is treason,”

Jaime looked her in the eye as he told her, “is it also treason to want to fight for my Queen?”

The Queen’s eyes flashed with fury then, “you have defied me and conveyed a false command for the Unsullied to go to war. _That_ is treason,” she seethed.

Jaime blinked then, looking down.

“Fichat mae (bring him),” The Queen ordered and she turned. Tyrion panicked, not understanding what she have said. _Could she have called for Jaime’s head?_ But then Tyrion saw Aggo and Kovarro attach their arakhs on their belt, fastening it. He sighed in relief as Aggo and Kovarro looped their arm under each of Jaime’s and yanked him to his feet, following the Queen.

Tyrion ran to keep pace with the Queen.

“Your Grace, please reconsider what you are about to do,” Tyrion pleaded but was pointedly ignored. The Queen was furious and Tyrion knew, too well, what she was capable of in this state, “Your Grace, my brother-“

“Lord Tyrion,” the Queen said, “Ser Jaime made his decision to commit treason. I think it is only fair that I will now make mine, in response,” they were approaching the open doors of the throne room

“Jaime may have made a mistake but he is right in one thing; that a Queen should not be riding off into battle,” Tyrion said quickly, thankful she let him speak but she did not slow down, “we have to reconsider this decision. You can’t risk your life like this and especially not after you’ve been asleep for the last 4 years and would be too weak to-“

The Queen turned to him, stopping so abruptly that Tyrion struggled to stop, “I am not _weak_ ,” she hissed and Tyrion flinched at the look in her eyes.

Tyrion held up his hands, “forgive me your Grace. That came out wrong. What I meant to say-“

“Thank you for your counsel, Lord Tyrion,” she stated coldly before she walked into the throne room. Tyrion followed slowly. He watched the Queen walk up the steps to the throne and it struck him that it would be the first time the Queen ever sat on the Iron Throne. The Queen stood before the throne, a hand on the handle; a pommel of a sword that was melted down. Then she turned to face the throne room and sat.

Tyrion tried to meet Jaime’s eyes as his brother was dragged past him by the two Dothraki but Jaime was looking at the Queen. Tyrion had his suspicions about his brother and the Queen but held his tongue about it, not wanting to breathe life into suspicions that would bring unrest within the royal family. And there was no need.

It was plain to Tyrion the Queen loved the King and no other, since 4 years ago at Winterfell. Tyrion had told the Queen that her relationship with Jon Snow would only jeopardise her alliance with the Northmen, letting them think she had seduced Jon to gain his allegiance; which would at the same time jeopardise Jon’s reputation as their leader. The Queen had been sombre when he had told her, seeming to register her own irrationality when it came to matters of the King in the North. Her heart ruled over her head and it was dangerous for a ruler. Then Tyrion had suggested the Queen marry Jaime, the heir to Casterly Rock once he was no longer in the Kingsguard, to secure an alliance of the West and gain the Lannister soldiers who would follow Jaime than Cersei; if Jaime would take them.

The Queen had considered for a few days but rejected his suggestion eventually. And although she had said she would take the Lannister’s allegiance and would not need to marry Jaime to have it given, Tyrion knew the real reason was that she could not bring herself to marry Jaime while she was in love with another; if her longing glances at the King in the North over supper and council meetings were any indication. The King in the North and the Queen had not spoken or spend any time alone together since they had arrived at Winterfell and Jon was told he was Aegon Targaryen but that seemed to do little for the Queen’s affections for him. And all the while, Tyrion had watched his brother’s affection for the Queen grow.

Tyrion sighed, walking forward and standing at the foot of the Throne, as was his place as Hand. Jaime was thrown to his knees before the Queen and he fell heavily, his armour hitting the floor.

“Ser Jaime Lannister of the Queensguard,” the Queen began. Jaime watched her say the words, flinching at the mockery in them after what he did, but there was none in her tone. The Queen was never a spiteful woman, unlike Cersei. There was just _nothing_ in the tone of her words, “you stand accused of treason to the Crown, how do you answer to this charge?”

“You can judge me as you see fit, my Queen,” Jaime replied, “my life is yours,”

Tyrion then looked up to realise the King was standing by the door of the Throne Room, watching the proceedings. Tyrion did not know how long the King had been there.

“How do you answer these charges, Ser Jaime?” the Queen asked coldly, not fazed by his reply that she judged irrelevant, “are you guilty?”

“Your Grace-“ Jaime began. 

“Yes or no,” the Queen interrupted.

Jaime paused as he watched the Queen. Then he smiled at her but it was not an arrogant smile that Jaime often had on in his youth. Tyrion rolled his eyes. _Jaime never was afraid of anything._

“Answer the question, Ser Jaime, I will not ask you again,” she said, completely unfazed by his smile.

Jaime looked at her, his smile not fading even the slightest, “you know I am,” he replied softly.

Tyrion, who was staring at the Queen to gauge her reaction, caught a twitch as she blinked and it looked as if she had not reacted at all to his admission but she did. There was a moment of silence in the throne room as the Queen and his brother locked eyes, the former looking to be in deep contemplation while the latter seemed to be completely unconcerned with a decision his life depended on and still wore a small smile.

“Do you have anything else to say in your defence, Ser Jaime?”

The Queen did not issue an ultimatum and Tyrion sighed in relief. To the untrained ear, it sounded like procedure but Tyrion knew the Queen did not waste time in formalities like this. She was giving Jaime a chance, to give her a reason to let him live.

Tyrion bit his tongue then, willing Jaime to convince the Queen that he deserved no punishment at all. His brother never had the smartest of mind or the sharpest tongue but if he were to experience a sudden spurt in either of these two skills in his life, Tyrion thought now would be the perfect time to show it.

Jaime seemed to consider his words before he spoke and Tyrion prayed all that intense consideration would not be for naught.

“Your Grace,” Jaime looked up, “be wary of the arrows,”

The Queen blinked. Tyrion blanched as Jaime botched a chance to save his own life, to utter nonsense, “Ser Jaime, if you think this is a joke-“

“It may seem like you are at an advantage but the Dothraki are sharp shooters, even from horseback; especially from horseback. Any one of their arrows have a higher chance of hitting you, the rider, than any of the arrows the Lannister men could shoot. And make no mistake they will be aiming for you, not Drogon; that is what I would have done- had done. Nonetheless, you need to descend to burn them so don’t fly straight to the middle of their cavalry. Keep your back clear of archers. They may also try to-“

The Queen’s lips pinched together, her body rigid as Jaime issued warfare advice to her. Then she swallowed, barely visibly, “that is enough!” she snapped. Jaime paused, “you will spend the next 3 moons in the dark cells, contemplating the choice you have made. After, if you still show no remorse for what you have done, I will burn you alive,” Tyrion spun around, feeling bile rise in his throat, his stomach churning. The Queen had meant it.

Jaime paled and froze.

“Take him away,” the Queen turned away, staring to the side as the men came forward. They pulled Jaime to his feet roughly.

Jaime seemed to snap out of his shock then, “Your Grace, stay low on Drogon and make sure that your sides are never exposed to the Dothraki even if you have to bank to the side,” Jaime said hurriedly as he was dragged from the throne room, his eyes never leaving the Queen who was no longer looking at him, “they will aim for Drogon’s wings, where Drogon would be vulnerable to arrows but always keep yourself out of sight and out of their aim,” Jaime dug in his heels as he reached the door of the throne room. The men grunted and yanked him fiercely out of the throne room, “don’t forget that, Daenerys!”

The Queen stiffened as she heard her name. Her hand curled into a fist on the arm of the throne was shaking. She looked up to see the Queensguard member disappear around the doors of the throne room. Then she blinked as she saw the King standing in the back of the throne room, by the door. She rose and stepped down from the throne, going to meet the King.

Tyrion was surprised to see the King clad in dark black armour with red dragon embellishment on the breastplate and pauldrons. Actually Tyrion was surprised to see the King out of bed at all, recalling the extensive burns he saw on the King’s back just two days ago. He could not have recovered and the King’s pale visage was telling.

“What happened?” the King asked as the Queen walked towards him.

The Queen shook her head, dismissing his question and she asked him instead, “how are you feeling?” her voice thick with concern but her face remained a mask and her hands by her side, not touching the King.

“Fit to ride a dragon,” the King replied and it was as light-hearted a reply as Tyrion has ever heard from the King.

Tyrion smiled as he heard the jest but then he studied the King’s face and then the armour. _It’s not a joke._ Tyrion’s eyes widened, “My King, you can’t be going as well?”

They both turned to him. The King said, “I can,” his voice deadpanned and his eyes was set in a way Tyrion had come to recognise over the years.

Tyrion nodded respectfully, “but your Grace, you have not recovered-“

“I have decided, Lord Tyrion. And the Queen is in agreement with me,” the King said flatly. Tyrion frowned, turning to the Queen; who had a look of resignation rather than agreement. _So even dragon fire was unable to melt the ice of Starks, or Snow in this case. Or maybe the dragon has yet to truly breathe fire._

Tyrion sighed deeply, “Well, then there is nothing the Lord Hand can do but sit in the safety of the Red Keep and wish you safe travels your Graces,”

The Queen’s lips pressed together in amusement, at his bitterness no doubt. The King nodded to him solemnly. With that, both of them turned, walking shoulder to shoulder out of the throne room, close but not touching, never touching.

 

**_Jon_ **

“Where are you going?” Jaehaerys’ wide grey eyes were red rimmed now, slowly filling with tears. He was looking up at both of them.

“Oh Jaehaerys,” he heard Daenerys whisper as she dropped to her knees, pulling her son into a firm hug.

“Why are you leaving me again?” Jon could hear Jaehaerys whimper into his mother’s shoulder. Daenerys pulled Jaehaerys away and held him by his shoulders. The Prince looked at his mother, his lower lips beginning to tremble as a tear escaped his eyes, rolling down his rosy cheeks.

“Jaehaerys….” Daenerys sighed, “I would not leave if I had a choice-“

“The people need our help,” Jon spoke up. Daenerys blamed herself, even if it was not her fault that she had left Jaehaerys to grow up without his mother. At that thought, Jon knew he could not allow Jaehaerys to fill Daenerys with guilt, intentionally or not. He placed a gentle hand on Jaehaerys’ beautiful silver hair, “Remember what I told you about ruling?”

Jaehaerys looked up at his father, the tears in his eyes wrenching at Jon’s heart. The Prince nodded slowly, “Protect the people,”

“Yes, Jaehaerys and the people need our protection now more than ever,” Jon said, “The people need us to ride out on our dragons to protect them,”

Jaehaerys’ eyes widened then, “Like Aegon and his sisters on their dragons?”

“Something like that,” Jon chuckled.

The Prince looked excited but then as quickly as that came, Jaehaerys’ eyes fell, “but…” he hung his head, “will Mother get hurt again?”

Jon felt a lump form in his throat at the thought, “Drogon will be there to protect her and I will protect her as well, Jaehaerys,”

Jaehaerys looked up at Jon then, an angry look in his eyes behind the tears, “you didn’t the last time!” the fierce accusation cut through Jon, sharper than the knife his Brothers of the Nights Watch had drove into his heart.

“Jaehaerys!” Daenerys snapped and Jaehaerys’ eyes turned fearful as he looked at his Mother, “that was no fault of your Father’s! We are dragons, Jaehaerys. We can and will protect ourselves and if we get hurt, it could never be the fault of others!” she said sharply. Jaehaerys was no longer looking at her and Daenerys’ face soften just slightly as she cradled his face in both her hands gently, her tone softening as well, “We will come back to you,”

“ _Kesan pendagon hen ao_ (I will miss you),” Jaehaerys muttered, looking down as he kicked the toe of his boot into the mud.

“Do you know what dragons are, Jaehaerys?” Daenerys pulled her son to her, a hand gently stroking his hair, his cheek pressed to her chest; over her heart.

“ _va ñellyrty perzys_ (fire made flesh),” Jaehaerys replied quietly. His tone was foreign to Jon’s ears, not of the rambunctious, lovable and brave Prince that Jon knew and brought his son up to be.

“yes, _va ñellyrty perzys,_ ” Daenerys echoed, “when you light a fire Jaehaerys, you will know that no matter where I may be, I love you. As the heat of that fire will keep you warm, I will be there with you and I will protect you,” Daenerys said thickly. Jaehaerys sniffed.

He pulled from her embrace just slightly to look up at her, “do you promise?”

“I give you my word,” Daenerys bent and pressed a kiss on a teary eyelid and then the other, “a Queen’s word,”

Jaehaerys nodded then, a small smile on his face.

“Can you be brave, my little dragon?” Daenerys smiled, stroking his cheek gently with the back of her fingers.

“If _you_ will be brave, Mother,” Jaehaerys placed his small hand on her cheek. Daenerys laughed. She took him in her arms and stood, “and Father,” Jaehaerys turned in Daenerys’ arm in search of his father.

Jon smiled as he leaned forward to press a kiss atop his son’s head, “we will return Jaehaerys, before you know it,”

“I love you, Father,” Jaehaerys leaned to Jon and Daenerys shifted him so he could press a wet kiss to his father’s cheek. Then he turned to Daenerys, kissing her as well, “ _Avy jorrāelan Muña_ (I love you Mother),”

“ _īlon jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie_ (we love you so much),” Jon watched with an ache in his chest as Daenerys pressed a firm kiss to the Prince’s forehead before setting him down beside the wet nurse. She turned to Ser Jorah, “protect my son,” her command firm despite the waver in her eyes.

Jorah inclined his chin in acknowledgement, “with my life, your Grace,” he replied, gazing intently at her. Daenerys held his gaze a moment longer. She touched him on the arm, nodding to him. Then without a word, she turned towards the stables. Jon watched as Jorah watch the Queen walk away. His gaze had always lingered longer on the Queen than what sat comfortably for Jon but Jon also knew that Jorah had been with Daenerys since the beginning. They had a special bond; one between the Queen and her loyal protector. Jon palmed the back of Jaehaerys’ head, fondly feeling the soft downy silver hair before he, too, turned and approached the stables. One of his squire held the reins of a black steed, waiting for him. 

Jon has had a little milk of the poppy to dull the pain before he was dressed in the armour that Daenerys had insisted he donned for the battle. When he had protested for her lack of armour, she had said she needed to be dressed appropriately if she was to regain the leadership of the Khalasar; to look like a _Khaleesi_.

It was what Jorah had always called her and Jon learned that it meant Queen.

Daenerys approached the beautiful silver horse she was to mount and Jon followed. Instead of mounting it straight away, she stood beside the horse where she knew it could see her. She stroke its face gently from between its eyes to its nose as she murmured into its ear, which twitched.

Smiling then, she patted the side of its neck heavily, stepped on the stirrups and attempted to mount the horse. Then she staggered before she could rise. Jon shot forward, his arms open to hold her but Daenerys shook her head and he hesitated. He could see her arms and legs shaking, weaker. Sam had read in the books and had done as much as he could, telling her handmaidens to do the same, to keep the strength in her limbs but there was only so much they could do.

Then quietly, one of her Dothraki handmaids came forward and crouched and held her leg, assisting her. Then Daenerys attempted to mount the horse again and succeeded. Despite her weakened state, she had mounted the horse with a grace Jon had never seen even in the men of Westeros, who rode horses often enough. She adjusted herself in the saddle, leaning forward to pat the horse’s neck again as she took the reins with her other hand. She sat up and looked at him to see him still standing by her, watching her, concerned.

She nodded assuredly to him and Jon opened his mouth, wanting to convince her to stay and he should go on her behalf but he knew she would never agree to it and him speaking up now would do no good but result in the people witnessing a quarrel between the King and Queen. So Jon nodded and turned to his horse and mounted, gritting his teeth against the pain that was bearable until now, He had some milk of the poppy with him but resolved not to take any yet. He would need them for the battles ahead.

She was still looking at him. He smiled, a smile she returned as she urged the horse to the trot to the Dragonpit. Jon did not miss the look Daenerys threw behind her to her son as they left.

He guided his horse beside hers, “you ride beautifully,” he said honestly.

She smiled, “you would too if you rode every day for a year and only left your horse to make camp in the night,”

“Not even to eat?” Jon raised a brow. He could not imagining living his life on a horse, especially now when every jerk of his horse made Jon wince in pain.

She shook his head, “In the day, we eat on the horses. The Dothraki travel quickly and so, constantly,” Daenerys seemed to have recalled something as she smiled, “after I was sold to them, I was miserable for a time. The reins made my hands bleed and my thighs were rubbed raw from being in the saddle. And the Khal was not a gentle man,” Jon felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in his stomach, almost an ache, for Daenerys’ suffering, “But it was either I learn quickly or suffer so I learned,”

“Did it get easier?” Jon found himself asking.

Daenerys nodded, “yes,”

“With the Khal I mean,” it left a bitter taste in his mouth to even think that Daenerys was ever someone else’s for a time; that someone had been where he had been, under her beautiful warm body, both of them lost in the throes of passion, clinging onto the other desperately. But it was not just that. He could not bear the thought of Daenerys being hurt; especially by someone who has had the privilege to be with her in that manner.

“I have to learn as well; how to please him.” she replied simply, “how to love him,”

“Does he love you?” Jon asked. He was not jealous for there was no point in being jealous of a dead man.

Daenerys’ lips pursed just a little, “yes, he did, in his own way. After a while, when I have learned to please him and our time together…improved. He loved me.”

He was not stupid. He knew his wife was incredibly beautiful. And she was easy to love; she had an irresistible charm that she knew she had but did not flaunt, she had an easy confidence that came to her easily when she was Queen and she had a kind and gentle heart. But there were times, the things she did made Jon flinch; like sentencing people to death by fire rather than by execution, like the time she rode into battle and massacre thousands of soldiers without batting an eye and like when she had killed the man she loved. But Jon knew now, the love they had shared was not of simply love; it was fraught with pain and suffering and chains that she learnt to love. She was his property, she had belonged to him. 

“He wanted to give me Seven Kingdoms,” a smile.

Jon raised his brows. _That was an incredible thing to promise. Even for a Khal of a great Khalasar._ He had heard from Jorah about the immense size of Khal Drogo’s Khalasar, the formidability of his Dothraki. And he had heard of the Khal himself, fearsome and large but a lithe warrior, lethal in combat and has never been defeated in combat; even till death.

“But it wasn’t his to give, _we_ had to take it, together,” Daenerys said to him, a small smile on her lips.

For reasons he did not know, he could see Daenerys beside such a man, being the wife of such a man. Even with her petite form and beautiful soft features, she would hold her own against fearsome men, as he had seen when she came to the North and was unfazed by the disdain and hatred the battle hardened Northmen have shown her. She never did need protecting.

Then beside him, Daenerys spurred her horse to ride quicker and her horse responded instantly. Jon looked ahead to see the Dragonpit.

The Dragonpit was a monstrous structure. Jon had ordered the rebuilding of the structure, one of his first orders after his ascendance as King Regent. The structure was built tall such that the dragons could fly around in it and it also had a large lower level under the ground, which the dragons were supposed to sleep in.

He watched Daenerys dismount the horse carefully, patting its neck in thanks. Then she approached the Dragonpit on foot. The doors of the pit was open wide, as Daenerys ordered. The dragons were free in the day and would be kept in the dragonpit if they chose to return for the night; which they did for the past 2 nights to sleep, according to the Unsullied keeping guard at the Dragonpit. The dragons had not objected as the doors were closed.

Jon dismounted gingerly, bracing himself for the pain which came as he landed. He held onto the saddle, managing to stop his knees from folding under the pain. Taking a moment to recover, he handed the reins of the horse to a member of the Kingsguard before walking forward to join Daenerys. She was watching the skies and Jon was wondering if she would call for Drogon soon.

Then he heard a roar, followed by another.

He looked up, squinting against the bright skies. Then all of a sudden, it was dark. Drogon had arrived.

The black dragon landed heavily on top of the Dragonpit, shaking the ground they stood.

Daenerys smiled as the dragon eyed them from his position above. He seemed to spot the Kingsguard and Queensguard members behind them, then he roared. Jon heard the soft sounds of the armour clinking as the guards backed away instinctively. Seemingly satisfied then, Drogon crawled down the dragonpit then, approaching them.

Daenerys approached the dragon as it lowered its head, its great big eyes blinking once as it looked at her. She placed a hand on its snout, looking the dragon in the eye for a moment.

Just then, beside Drogon, Rhaegal screeched and landed. Drogon lifted its head from the ground as Daenerys turned to the green dragon, “ _ñuha riña_ (my child),” Daenerys approached Rhaegal, lifting her hand to it. Rhaegal regarded her with bright bronze eyes for a moment, blinking as it lowered his head to the ground before its mother. A small whispery screech escaped its throat, almost a purr, as Daenerys placed a hand on the side of its face.

“They missed you,” he spoke. Daenerys turned to him, a sad smile on her face.

“I am glad they had you,” Daenerys told him, a soft look in her lilac eyes. She stretched a hand out towards him then.

He smiled, obliging as he approached and took her hand. Her usually soft hands were wrapped around the knuckles with a layer of rough dothraki cloth. He felt his smile widened as Daenerys laced her fingers with his, “it’s not the same, they need their mother,” Jon looked at Rhaegal who was watching him. He reached forward and touched Rhaegal. His green and bronze scales were cold and smooth under his palm.

Then Daenerys walked to the Rhaegal’s side, his hand still in hers. Jon followed her, allowing his palm to trail from Rhaegal’s snout, down to its neck and to its side. Daenerys let go of his hand then. Jon clutched a spike beside Rhaegal’s wing and hoisted himself up, unable to help the grunt that escaped him as his back burned. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to meet Daenerys’ eyes which were filled with worry.

“Don’t,” she said softly, her brows raising imploringly; one last plea.

“It’ll be alright,” he assured her with a tight smile and he hoisted himself up again, gritting his teeth against the pain. By the time he was sitting snugly on the spot where Rhaegal’s neck met his wings, beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead and his back was burning in agony.

Daenerys was still standing beside Rhaegal, a hand on its side as she looked worriedly up at him. He nodded to her and managed a smile. She turned then and walked to Drogon. The black dragon snorted, almost impatiently, smoke rising from its nostrils. Daenerys approached the dragon with an amused smile. As she reached its side, Drogon pressed its underbelly flushed against the ground. Jon watch Daenerys step up on Drogon’s foot and stepped on the spikes on its side till she was on its back. She adjusted her position a little, her hands clutching the spikes before her.

She leaned forward and Jon did likewise.

“ _Sōves_ ,” Jon said to Rhaegal. He felt the green dragon shake itself off as it stood, pushing off the ground with its feet and flapping its great wings. Jon could feel the dragon’s muscles flexing under his legs as it rose into the air, his brother rising beside him. For a moment, it seemed the two dragons were engaged in a race towards the sky. He squinted against the bright sky, feeling the cold fresh wind beat against his face. Jon felt a laugh bubble to the surface and he laughed, loudly.

He turned to his side to see Daenerys turning to look at him as well. A wide exhilarated smile on her face and she laughed. Jon thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Then Jon felt a splash of cold moisture as they broke through the clouds. As if mutually knowing it was the end of the race, both Drogon and Rhaegal straightened out abruptly with a powerful flap of their wings. He smiled as he looked across the rolling hills and lands. He glanced down to see King’s Landing, its streets narrow between houses packed close together to house all 500,000 common people. It was beautiful up here and for a moment, Jon forgot the Dothraki, the endless demands of the noble houses and the suffering of the smallfolk.

Rhaegal roared, almost in exhilaration as if reading his mind, Drogon joining a beat later.

In the skies mounted on Rhaegal, with Daenerys beside him, Jon felt a Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: there seem to be no word for ‘miss’ in High Valyrian so I translated ‘I will think of you’ instead. A longer chapter because the second half is more of a filler for the next chapter :) Thank you for all your comments and kudos! Glad to see you guys enjoying the story and if not, thank you for reading anyway


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**_Daenerys_ **

It was beautiful. She watched as lands rolled past underneath them; her lands. They have been flying for a while now and the sun was already high in the sky but the wind that whipped at her face was cool and fresh and Daenerys felt the chains fall away and she was free. She could smile, she could laugh, she could cry, she did not have to worry how others would see their Queen. There was no one here, no one but Jon; who she wanted to see her, to know her.

She turned to look at Rhaegal who was fly beside them, slightly lower.

Her husband was clad in Targaryen armour and Daenerys thought she had not seen anyone more handsome. He was as stubborn as history promised the Northerners to be and tactless to boot but Daenerys loved him. He was a gentle and loving man when no one looked, no one but her. And her heart ached as she saw a grimace on his handsome face as he had mounted the horse, mounted Rhaegal and now, as he shifted uncomfortably atop Rhaegal’s back. All for her.

She watched him reach for the purse at his side and retrieved a vial of milk of the poppy for the pain. Then she dug her left knee into Drogon’s back and as she had trained him, Drogon banked left just slightly closer to Rhaegal.

He turned to look at her, the vial in his hand. _Are you alright, my love?_ She thought but they did not leave her lips.

She watched his grimace turn into a small smile, hiding his pain from her, as he drank from the vial. His face was pale and there were dark eye circles around his grey eyes. He looked like he could fall from Rhaegal at any time but Jon had insisted to be by her side in this fight and she knew there was no stopping him, as he could not stop her when she had wanted to fight this fight.

But every time she looked at him, the thought of him falling as Rhaegal flew in sharp twists and turns would come to her and she felt as if she could not breathe. She had never feared for someone’s life as she had feared for Jon’s and she resented it. It made her weak and vulnerable. But there was nothing she could do; nor would she do anything to change it. She loved him. And her love for him and his love for her weakened her now but it has kept her strong and alive for four years. It was no miracle by the Gods; Daenerys did not believe in Gods. But she believed in Jon and he had kept her alive all those years. And in return, she could not leave him.

As she gazed at Jon then, his face pale from the pain, she wondered if she had made a mistake. One that could cost her husband her life, as one of hers had costed her Dothraki husband his life. She had been obstinate in both. She had learned to accept and live with her decision that caused Drogo’s death. _But how could she be without Jon?_

As Jon emptied the vial, he smiled at her, holding her gaze. His smile was easier now and she knew his pain was fading. She forced a smile on her face then urged Drogon to ride ahead and quicker. There was no time to go back on her decision now. They would be there soon, she could feel the air getting thicker and colder.

Then she saw it. Dothraki camps set on the sprawling land, just before the wet marshlands of the Neck.

She glimpsed men moving about the camp. She felt her anger rise as she thought of what the Dothraki have done to the people; her people now. Daenerys was no stranger to the Dothraki customs and she knew what they did to survivors of cities they raided. They were here because of her and they had to leave now; she would make sure of it.

As if sensing her rage building, Drogon roared ferociously. She could feel his body tremble beneath her. She then brought Drogon into a sharp dive towards land. Behind her, Rhaegal roared and followed.

She could see the Dothraki begin to scramble about, warriors mounting their horses while women and children scrambled to hide.

Daenerys tilted her body to the left just slightly and felt Drogon bank left as she had wanted, still in a sharp headfirst dive towards the ground, “ _Dracarys,”_ she commanded.

Drogon reared his head and blistering flames surged towards the green field just beyond the camp of the Dothraki. They neared land as Drogon’s flames charred the ground black and it was set alight. When flames danced and licked in the air, Daenerys leaned back and Drogon’s wings snapped open, catching the wind. Then Drogon landed in the midst of his flames, roaring towards the Dothraki encampment. Above them, Rhaegal circled the air, within range so his fires would reach land.

Daenerys kept her eyes fixed in that direction. The Dothraki saw them in the air as she had wanted to them to and they saw the challenge as well. The Dothraki would never run from a fight.

And soon enough, she could hear the thundering of horse hoofs on the ground and in the distance, she saw them. All mounted on horses, arakhs and bows in their hands, screaming war cries; once, they were for her. She saw red as she glimpsed Kaffo; _Khal Kaffo now_. He was leading the charge, at the head of the cavalry.

Drogon roared as he too saw their approach. As they came near enough, Daenerys leaned forward and Drogon pushed off the ground and into the air. Drogon soared, just high enough as the Dothraki approached. _Be wary of the arrows._

Gripping the spikes firmly, she leaned forward and with a flap of Drogon’s wings, they were heading straight for their Khal, in the vanguard, “ _Dracarys,”_ Fire lit up the back of Drogon’s throat and Daenerys glimpsed a flash of fear in Khal Kaffo’s eyes before he was engulfed in black flames, reduced to ashes instantly, blown away by the wind stirred by Drogon’s wings.

Beside her, Rhaegal swooped over the men and orange and yellow flames with veins of green poured from him. Then Jon led Rhaegal back into the air. She watched as black fire and orange fire consumed the men and their horses. A few in the back tried to avert the flames by turning their horses away but the fire consumed all the same.

They screamed.

 _Dothraki are sharp shooters. And make no mistake they will be aiming for you, not Drogon_  

Drogon banked up just in time as she bid him to and Dothraki arrows clattered off his scaly underside. As they rose into the air, Daenerys guided Drogon around and proceeded back to the horde. She glanced and caught Jon’s eye over Rhaegal’s shoulder but then he was gone from her sight as Rhaegal dived to the ground, quicker than Drogon, for another attack.

The Dothraki had no discipline, no formation as they attacked, resulting in a sprawling line of vanguard across the field. All of them wielded their bows and arrows, aiming for the skies. She approached them and kept her back as clear of Dothraki archers as she could, as she did the first time and watched as they screamed under Drogon’s fire. Ahead, Rhaegal and Jon did the same and Daenerys found herself watching Jon, her heart in her throat as an arrow whistled towards Rhaegal. It clattered off Rhaegal’s scaly neck as Rhaegal turned sharply, some arrows missing them entirely.

She smiled in pride. Among the two, Rhaegal was naturally more agile than Drogon though Drogon made up for that with strength and size. And Daenerys was starting to see that Jon was meant to ride Rhaegal. Jon was not a large warrior but he was a great warrior, overcoming size and strength with agility and skill. And he rode Rhaegal in that way as well, maneuvering the smaller green dragon swiftly over the battlefield to get the better of their opponents. Daenerys could think of no one better to ride Rhaegal.

As she looked down at the battlefield below, a thought came to her. _Stay low on Drogon_. Instantly, she ducked down just as an arrow whistled past her head, coming from the front, just skimming over Drogon’s shoulder. _It was too close-_

Then Drogon suddenly jerked to fly upwards without her command. Just in time. Daenerys could hear arrows clatter off his scales. _Drogon had just saved her life._

But his movement was unexpected and Daenerys felt her already weakened thighs begin to slip from her seat. She panicked, gripping his spikes tightly and pressing her legs firmly on Drogon. Drogon screeched and banked to the side, mistaking her commands. _Make sure that your sides are never exposed to the Dothraki._ _Always keep yourself out of sight and out of their aim._ Daenerys glanced to the side to see the Dothraki below, their bows and arrows aimed straight at her. Drogon’s manoeuvre had sent them over the horde and their sides exposed.

All she heard was a soft whistling in the wind before sharp pain shot up her leg. She cried out in shock and, he roared in pain, his body twisting to the side as if he had felt the arrow as well. For a moment, they went flailing into the air haphazardly.

_Daenerys!_

She thought she heard Jon but could not be sure. For a moment, as both her and Drogon dropped at an alarming speed to the ground, Daenerys felt fear grip her heart. _Jon._ _Jaehaerys._ She gripped Drogon’s spikes and pressed her body flat on him as they spiralled to the ground. _She can’t die. She’s not ready to leave them._ Tightening her grip, she shouted, “ _Drogon_!”

She felt a jerk that threatened to throw her off as Drogon straightened himself out, opening his wings just over the horde of Dothraki. She could feel his body tremble with the effort as with another flap of his great wings, he pulled them back into the air.

Daenerys looked down at herself to see a distinguished Dothraki arrow embedded in her thigh. Thick red blood was oozing from her wound. She gritted her teeth and looked over Drogon from where she was, spotting a tear in his wing where the arrow had pierced. Looking down at the Dothraki, she felt her pain turn to a foreign rage she had never felt; beginning to bubble out of her control. A dreadful roar escaped Drogon then; half a screech and it was piercing and deafening.  

 _Drogon, burn them all!_ “ _Dracarys_!”

As Drogon burned the horde in the masses, she felt his and her own fire fill her and overwhelm her but she had no fear. On the contrary, she had not felt more powerful than at that moment. She leaned forward urging Drogon into the thick of the horde, raining black fire over where they flew. Men and horses burned alike; reduced to charred bodies and ashes, littering the battlefield.

Fire was rolling within Drogon’s jaw, ready to be spewed on the rest of the horde when the Dothraki began cutting their braids and throwing them down, dropping their bows and arakhs. But Daenerys only saw red. _It is too late for that._ “ _Dracarys_ ,”

They disappeared a stream of black fire, barely able to scream before they turned to ash.

 

**_Jon_ **

Drogon had roared as Daenerys brought them into a steep nose dive towards the Dothraki camp. He frowned, initially confused when Daenerys had brought Drogon out to the open field just beyond the encampment, burning the field instead of the camp. But as he saw, within the encampment, some mounting horses and some rushing into the tents, he realised. Daenerys had challenged the Dothraki to lure the warriors out into battle, leaving behind the women and children where Daenerys knew Drogon’s fire would not burn them.

He watched the woman he loved in awe then. _How can someone so beautiful have a heart so pure and kind? Even in war._

As Jon guided Rhaegal over the horde, burning them, he felt his stomach flip unpleasantly as he glimpsed a Dothraki horselord turn to ash under Rhaegal’s fire. He then glanced to see Daenerys leading Drogon to fly in a way that kept her back clear of potential archers. _What Jaime Lannister had told her during his trial._

He felt glad it was working but there was a sour taste in his mouth that he could not name as he realised that Daenerys had listened to him _._ As Jon led Rhaegal lower over the Dothraki, he could hear arrows whistling by, missing him by a hairsbreadth. Jon stayed low over Rhaegal then, leading Rhaegal in a series of twists and turns over the horde as he burned them. Each time Jon directed Rhaegal for a sharp manoeuvre, the green dragon obeyed, the arrows missing the dragon’s wings as Rhaegal constantly tucked and untucked them to turn sharply.

Jon then glanced up to see Daenerys descend for the next attack and it went wrong somehow. Jon felt his breath hitch when an arrow soared into the air, missing Daenerys’ head by barely an inch. He gripped the spikes before him on Rhaegal’s back then, wanting to lead Rhaegal to Drogon but hesitated. Jon knew he was not thinking clearly, letting his heart get to his head.

Then he saw Drogon bank up, blocking a mass of arrows soaring for Daenerys with his underside and Jon felt relief fill him but it was short-lived. Something seemed to go wrong with Daenerys then and Drogon banked to the side unnaturally, exposing Daenerys to the horde below.

Then he saw an arrow, as quick and as accurate as Jon had ever seen, pierce Drogon’s wing and then striking Daenerys. Drogon roared in pain then, spiralling out of control as his injured wing folded.

“DAENERYS!”

He spurred Rhaegal around sharply, knowing in his heart if Drogon were not to straighten out himself and keep them in the air, they would hit the ground. Rhaegal could not catch them in time.

Then Drogon did and Jon felt his heart resume beating once more. He guided Rhaegal to fly over Drogon, commanding Rhaegal to add his fire to Drogon’s. For a moment, he glimpsed Daenerys, glancing worriedly at the arrow in her leg before Rhaegal banked up and he lost sight of her. As Rhaegal turned them back to the fight, Jon was startled by a monstrous roar. It took a moment for him to register it as Drogon’s roar; a roar of the gods, one that could split the skies. He turned to see Daenerys riding Drogon recklessly into the midst of the horde, his fires burning the men under him. _What is she doing?_

Jon rode Rhaegal after her, feeling a twinge of pain in his back as he flexed his entire body to urge Rhaegal to fly faster. He commanded Rhaegal to burn the men, shielding Daenerys’ back as much as he could. Arrows were raining around them, whizzing past him every now and then from every direction. One bounced off his pauldron, too close to his head but Jon fixed his eyes on his wife in front of him. She was without armour and every time an arrow whistled past her, Jon could almost hear Jaehaerys’ words; _you didn’t last time!_ And he would fail this time as well.

Then beneath them, the Dothraki stopped, one by one. They cut their braids and threw down their weapons. Jon halted Rhaegal’s flight and his fire but at his side, he glimpsed Drogon and Daenerys still approaching the unarmed warriors. Jon watched and his blood turned to ice in his veins as Drogon pulverise unarmed men under the intense heat of black fire.

“Daenerys,” Jon whispered, watching in disbelief as Drogon burned a long trail of unarmed Dothraki men. _This is not right, this is not her_ , “come on boy,” Jon muttered and Rhaegal responded, surging forward.

As they neared, Daenerys seemed to not have noticed, her eyes fixed forward. Then Rhaegal cut Drogon off mid-flight, snapping his jaws and screeching fiercely. Drogon screeched, angry and twisted his head up to duck Rhaegal’s jaws.  

Jon watched Drogon turn in the air to face them and on his back, Daenerys was glaring down at the Dothraki. He did not recognise his wife then.

“Daenerys, that is enough!” Jon shouted but he knew she could not hear him over the dragons, “they have surren-

“ _Dracarys_!”

Jon’s eyes widened and he urged Rhaegal into a nosedive. He felt fire skim over him and Rhaegal as the green dragon led them in a plummet to the ground. He glanced back to see Drogon’s fire turn the Dothraki on the ground into ash, its initial target _._ Jon growled in frustration as he urged Rhaegal around to face his brother. Rhaegal roared.

She turned to him and glared and Jon knew what was coming, “ _Dracarys!_ ” Jon shouted, hearing Daenerys command the same.

Orange and yellow flames with veins of green meet black in the air.

Then Jon was beginning to feel the scorch of the fire on his face, “DAENERYS, THESE ARE YOUR PEOPLE!” he roared, his hand coming up to shield his face from the heat.

Then Drogon stopped suddenly and dived down, Rhaegal’s flames skimming over Drogon’s tail.

He watched Drogon approach land, landing heavily on an outcrop of rock at the edge of the battlefield, roaring over the Dothraki. He could not see Daenerys from where he was. He spurred Rhaegal towards her, landing nearby. One by one, the Dothraki dismounted, approaching cautiously on foot. Daenerys watched as they cut their braids and threw them down before her but there was still a low rumble in Drogon’s throat and a hint of fire rolled within its jaw, threatening to spew forward. Jon was then reminded of before Daenerys had woken, the dragon had been like this, furious.

He dismounted Rhaegal, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Khal fin laz vos dothrakh vos Khal. Khal Kaffo drivat. Sillat anna, che driv (A Khal who cannot ride is no Khal. Khal Kaffo is dead. Join me, or die),” He heard Daenerys say. Drogon roared, spewing fire into the air above the Dothraki. The remaining Dothraki dropped to their knees without a hint of hesitation.

Jon approached frowning. A low growl emitted from Drogon still and he spewed forth black fire into empty air in rage, although thankfully burning nothing.

He came to the side of Drogon, “are you alright?” he looked up at her.

Daenerys turned to him and Jon flinched. He had never seen her look at him like that. Even in their time at Dragonstone where they had first met as strangers or when he had tactlessly refused to call her Queen and offended her. Her beautiful lilac eyes were filled with hate and rage.

“Daenerys,” Jon whispered, his heart wrenching as he saw the look in her eyes.

Her eyes widened slightly as they refocussed on him, “Jon,” she said. He watched rage slowly dissipated from her eyes. Then she winced and glanced at the wound on her leg, as if realising it for the first time. Daenerys bit her lip as she dismounted Drogon, favouring her wounded leg.

Jon caught her in his arms as she slipped and miss a step, “are you alright?” he cupped her face in his hands.

She nodded but her eyes were wide and searching his body frantically for any signs of wounds.

“Daenerys, I am fine,” he snapped, running his gloved hand over her arms. Heaving a sigh of relief as there were no more injuries.

“Jon,” she muttered. He looked at her and noticed for the first time that she was shaking, “what did I do?” he heard her whisper. Jon wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and hold her then but this was not the place or time so he squeezed her hand, assuring her.

“It was nothing, it’ll be alright,” he told her quietly.

Daenerys stared at the ground for a moment, swallowing, “I had killed them,” she looked up at him, “I was angry,” she averted his eyes then, her eyes wide with panic and Jon felt his heart wrench.

He took her face in his hands, “you’re in pain, it happens,” Jon told her through the lump in his throat. He knew there was something wrong but Daenerys did not need that now. Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

It was a wordless agreement that the remaining Dothraki horselords of this Khalasar would participate in their fight against the other two Khalasars but when Daenerys had turned from him and made to mount Drogon again, Jon was horrified. He held her hand firmly, refusing to let go. She stopped short, turning to look at him, “we’re not going until we heal your leg,” he told her flatly.

“We don’t have time for that,” Daenerys insisted, “it’ll get dark soon, we can’t fight them if we can’t see the arrows-“

“Then we will attack on the morrow,” Jon replied simply, “the men would need rest after the fight today,”

Daenerys stared at him for a moment and he knew she was considering what he had said. Eventually, to his relief, she nodded.

Then Jon realised, Drogon’s growling had stopped and he was sitting on the outcrop of rock, observing the Dothraki, calmly. Daenerys then turned to utter commands in the harsh guttural language to 3 Dothraki horselords, who were glancing shiftily at Drogon.

Then 2 of them mounted their horse and headed back to camp. The last one fetched 2 horses for them.

“Do you want to ride with me-“

She shook her head, “the people have to see me riding,” Jon watched her grimace as she limped to the horse, the arrow still deeply embedded and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. He placed a subtle hand on the small of her back, ready to catch her should she stumble but Daenerys does not.

He supported her leg as he saw the Dothraki handmaid did as she mounted the horse, her pierced thigh almost buckling under her but eventually, she was safely on her horse, her face pale from the pain.

Jon proceeded to mount his own, ignoring the pain in his back as he watched Daenerys worriedly. But there was no pain in her eyes as she urged the horse forward.

The people, mostly women and children were standing and staring at her as they rode into the camp, the Dothraki warriors behind them. Daenerys rode to the middle of the camp where a huge tent was pitched. Overhead, Jon was vaguely aware of Rhaegal and Drogon circling the camp, screeching every now and then. The Dothraki glanced up nervously at the dragons before going about their business eventually.

“Khaleesi,” a Dothrak who Daenerys had spoken to and rode off ahead of them to camp said, “okre hethke ha shafka (the tent is ready for you),”

Daenerys nodded stiffly, “fichat koalak jinne (bring the healer here),” the Dothrak nodded and turned to leave, “Nakho, fichat Kaffo Khasar jinne akka (stop, bring Kaffo’s bloodriders and generals as well),” she said to the Dothrak and he nodded, leaving.

Jon did not realise he was gripping Longclaw at his hip until he wanted to dismount. He quickly dismounted, feeling his back beginning to ache and burn as the milk of the poppy wore off but that would have to wait. He approached her, still on her horse. He reached up and placed an arm around her waist. He was glad when Daenerys placed her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to help her dismount.

Once they did, she limped into the tent, a hand on his arm. Then they were alone. The tent was large but simple and sparse. Inside, there were merely candles and a bed that was wood covered thickly with fur. He helped her to the bed.

At close proximity, Jon could hear her shallow breaths from the pain of the embedded arrow but Daenerys never flinched or made a sound. Her face remained a stoic, although pale, mask. She seemed to collect herself for a moment as she sat before she looked up at him. He was standing stiffly before her, a hand on Longclaw.

“It’s alright,” she said, glancing at his grip on Longclaw, “they are defeated in combat, they fight for us now,”

Jon nodded but he was uneasy. It sounded ridiculous to him that the Dothraki would simply be loyal to her because they were defeated; in the Seven Kingdoms, nothing bounded the men to be loyal to those who had defeated them.

“They respect strength above others. They would follow the strong. And we have proven in battle that we are strong,” she added, evidently seeing doubt still on his face. He nodded stiffly, glancing at the entrance of the tent as he sat beside her, “it takes a very brave man to walk into a Dothraki camp when he thought he would be attacked by hundreds,” she smiled then, placing a warm hand on his cheek.

He returned her smile, “I wasn’t thinking about that. I just-“

Jon heard footsteps and he rose instinctively, turning to face those who entered. His hand firmly on Longclaw.

5 men and 1 women entered the tent, all draped in Dothraki garbs. 2 of the men were the ones Daenerys sent off with orders. The other two was watching them cautiously but curiously. The last one was humongous, towering over the two Dothraki beside him and Jon as well. He was glaring at them and it made Jon shift just slightly closer to Daenerys. But then he felt a hand grip his arm and turned, alarmed to see Daenerys standing, holding him to stand. He ached to support her but he knew not to. _She must not look weak before these men._

Daenerys walked, surprisingly steadily and almost without a limp, and stood before the men. They all towered over her easily. She merely amounted up to the shoulder of the biggest one. She stood before the two men first.

“Astat anna fin yer (tell me who you are),” she said, her voice cold and demanding; a command.

“Anha Ozho, (I am Ozho),”

“Anha Caro, kisha Kaffo ko (I am Caro, we are Kaffo’s lieutenant),”

Daenerys inclined her chin in acknowledgement, “yer anni ko ajjin (you are my lieutenant now),” she said and both men nodded respectfully.

Then the largest man beside them spat at Daenerys’ feet. She did not flinch but merely glanced down where he had spat on the carpet, “yer vos anni khal (you are not my Khal),”

“yer Kaffo dothrakhqoyi (you are Kaffo’s bloodrider),” Daenerys stated. Jon knew, from what Daenerys had explained to him, that the _dothrakhqoyi_ of a Khal or Khaleesi resembled that of a Kingsguard but the bloodrider would avenge the Khal if he died and they would follow his Khal in death. Jon was shaken when Daenerys had told him; the loyalty of the Dothraki to their Khaleesi.

He looked at the man. His beard and thick eyebrows, the trait of the Dothraki, made him look fierce but what caught Jon’s eye was the braid at his back. It was longer than most of what Jon had seen in the Dothraki following Daenerys during the Great War. He knew the Dothraki cut off their braid when they are defeated in combat. _This man is a formidable warrior and we would have to kill him._

“yer hethke drivolat ha yeri Khal (are you ready to die for your Khal)?” Daenerys said.

“yer eth addrivat anna ataki (you have to kill me first),” he growled and reached for his arakh at his belt. Jon reached forward instantly, pulling Daenerys back and behind him. Then he drew Longclaw from the scabbard, holding it at the ready before him.

“Jon,” he heard her whisper, worried, no doubt noticing the bloodrider’s long braid as well. But Jon knew he had to fight and he will.

Jon watched as the man snorted a laugh at him, his eyes skimming over his armour, “Jin mahrazh zafra, me aresak (this man slave, he is a coward),”

He may not know the language but Jon knew he was mocking him. Spending his life fighting with mockery at his back, at home and even at the Night’s Watch, Jon felt a fire burning in his belly as he watched the man for the first strike.

The man lunged forward then, slashing his arakh at Jon’s middle. Jon lifted Longclaw and blocked the strike. Their weapons locked for a moment before Jon pushed him back with a shove of his shoulder but he was too large. The man merely took a small step back. He then lifted a hand from his arakh, the other still holding the arakh that is locked with Longclaw. Before Jon could duck, the man back handed him across the face.

Jon staggered to the side, his head ringing from the strike. He blinked to clear his vision just in time to see the Dothrak swinging his arakh at him. Jon stepped back, feeling the arakh skimming over his breastplate. The man growled as he lifted his arakh above his head and brought it down but Jon stepped to the side nimbly. As the man’s arakh cut through the air beside him, Jon saw his chance; taking a large step forward to the side of the man, Jon ran Longclaw neatly along the man’s right upper arm, Longclaw slicing open skin and muscle like it was paper.

The man howled in pain but swung his arakh into Jon’s side, favouring his uninjured hand. Jon took his time as he focussed on dodging the man’s attack, watching as the man’s movement began to slow and become clumsy, blood spurting from his wound.

Then the man took a swing of the arakh at his head, Jon ducked down and stepped forward, ready to plunge Longclaw into his stomach. But the Dothrak grabbed Jon around his arm with the injured hand and shoved him away like a rag doll.

Jon staggered and stumbled, falling forward on his knees but Longclaw remained firm in his grasp. His back burned with pain. He quickly turned to see the man’s arakh high above him. He made to roll to the side and to his feet but pain shot up his back and he froze momentarily. 

As the arakh came too close, Jon grunted and pushed himself out of the way, hearing and feeling the arakh striking his pauldron loudly. Jon staggered from the strike but eventually stumbled to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. He then lifted Longclaw and brought it down on the man. The man’s arakh rushed up to meet Longclaw but when it did, Longclaw cut through it and its edge sank deep into the man’s skull. Jon felt blood spurt from the man’s skull and onto his face.

The man was on his knees in front of him. His eyes were open but vacant, his mouth ajar in shock.

Jon kicked the man in the chest, removing Longclaw. The man fell back and was still.

He looked up to see the 4 Dothraki men stunned, staring at the bloodied body and the broken arakh. Then he turned to Daenerys. She inclined her chin, relief palpable in her eyes. He smiled at her. Then a wave of pain engulfed him and he felt himself sink to the ground but before he could hit the ground, there was blackness.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**_Jon_ **

“Jon?”

He smiled. Her voice was soft and gentle and he would stay lying down with his eyes closed, content to listen to her if not for the intense need he felt to see her. He opened his eyes.

Her beautiful face was marred with a worried frown and the furrows between her brows.

He frowned, “Daenerys,” he croaked, his throat was terribly dry.

She reached for the waterskin and pressed it to his lips gently. He drank deeply but his eyes watched her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she took the waterskin once he has had his fill.

“Nothing,” he replied honestly.

She nodded, “that would be the milk of the poppy,” he glanced over her and he sat up quickly, alarmed to see the blood on the bandage on her leg.

“Are you alright?” he grunted, straining against the hand she pressed against his chest to keep him lying down.

“They removed the arrow and disinfected the wound. It’s just a flesh wound,” she dismissed it but Jon knew the pain of being struck by an arrow and the painful process of removing it, especially when it went as deep as it did in her thigh.

“I know it hurts Daenerys,” he reached a hand up, cupping her face, “you don’t have to be strong with me,”

Daenerys smiled weakly, “I know,” she watched him for a moment before she told him, “I thought you were going to die,”

Jon felt his breath hitch as he saw a trace of fear in her eyes, but just a small trace before it was gone, “well, I couldn’t let him kill me,” Jon smiled, “my Queen hasn’t given me permission to leave,”

He felt triumphant when Daenerys chuckled. Then Jon realised his armour has been removed when she leaned forward, laying her head on his chest. He sighed, feeling at ease then, with his wife in his arms. He could feel her breath tickling him where her cheek was pressed against. Her fingers trailed lightly over his chest, over his rib and to his hip, where she held him, almost possessively, “and I never will,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes to rest when a thought came to him and he knew he needed to ask her, “Daenerys,”

She lifted her head from his chest and he opened his eyes to see her looking at him curiously. As he looked into her familiar lilac eyes, so full of adoration and love as they looked upon his face, he felt a sting of guilt.

Jon averted her eyes then, studying the slight flutter of the cloth of the tent above them as he asked, “what is Jaime Lannister to you?”

Daenerys’ face darkened and Jon knew it has got to do with the trial he saw. “A friend,” she said finally and Jon did not feel the tension release from him, “In Winterfell, I knew we needed him, for strategy. We had an army with no military commander. And Ser Jaime _is_ an experienced commander,”

Jon was quiet. He knew Jaime Lannister would be an asset if he were truly an ally but Jon could not bring himself to trust that man, after all he had heard of him, “why do you trust him so much at Winterfell?”

“I didn’t at first. I know he killed my father, his King. But I also know what kind of King my father was. So I couldn’t judge the man for that, I couldn’t avenge my father. Ser Jaime did what was right in that moment,” Jon felt a lump form in his throat at the hollow tone of her voice and the stranger he saw in her eyes. He could not help himself as he pulled her into his arms again, her head cradled against his chest, “and I know I shouldn’t let family feuds stop me from accepting the help of someone who would be an asset. It was a war against the dead and whoever Ser Jaime may be, he is of the living,”

“Aye,” Jon nodded. There was no denying that and if Jon was being truthful, he could see that Jaime believed him at the dragonpit. He was genuinely concerned when he had heard how large the army of the dead was, “but he could have killed you, for his sister,”

“It was risk,” Daenerys said, “but Tyrion trusts him and I trust my Hand,” a pause, “and I trust you,” Jon felt his brows furrow, perplexed, “we weren’t talking at that time for you were upset but… I know you care and I know you were right outside that door,”  

She was right. Jon had not let go of Longclaw or the handle of the door. Not until Jaime Lannister had exited the room.

“He is an attractive man,” Jon felt he needed to say, just to gauge her reaction.

Daenerys nodded, mirth threatening to bubble from her, “yes he is,” her amusement caused her lips to curve.

Jon watched her amusement, “you have thought about it,” he said, deadpanned. It was not a question. He could see.

She nodded again and Jon felt his heart sink, “I have thought about it. When Tyrion had suggested at Winterfell that I married Ser Jaime, to secure an alliance with the Lannisters, the Warden of the West,” _Tyrion would never advise her to marry him when he had already bent the knee and gave her the North without marriage._ But that understanding did not make Jon any less bitter about it.  

“It would be a good match, he loves you,” Jon admitted but he knew his voice was strained and his face hardened.

Daenerys reached up and placed a hand on the side of his face, “are you jealous, my King?” she smiled. Jon felt his face prickled with heat and he does not reply, “I do not love him. And I could not marry him when I loved another, when I wanted another, so much.”

Jon felt his heart lift as he looked at her, her eyes earnest and looking into his, “I am sorry, for the way I treated you at Winterfell,”

She shook her head, a smile on her lips, “you were confused and you needed time, after what we have done… I understand. Not every house would marry brother and sister, like the Targaryens,”

Jon chuckled, “no, not every house would,” Daenerys smiled, her thumb caressed his cheek gently, “Daenerys, what made you trust him in the end?”

Daenerys paused, “He told me of the past, I learnt that he is no longer the man people thought he was. But then he told me about people I would have known as family if things were different, the people the history books would never mention. That my father wasn’t always mad, that my brother was melancholy but always kind to the people who served him. He had told me about my father and my brother, like Ser Barristan used to in Meereen and I let him,”

He leaned back to look at her then and he realised Daenerys has never had a family. She had never known the warmth of a home as he had at Winterfell, among his siblings; one he still had till today. In his most difficult times at the Night’s Watch, Jon could reminisce the times with Robb, with Arya, with Bran. But in her time in exile, she had known family as Viserys, who could hardly be called her brother. In her times of hardship, she only had herself and her single minded goal; to take back her father’s throne.

“I was lost, Jon,” she said, her voice wavering and Jon felt his heart wrenched, “I looked back and I was lost-“

He took her chin gently in his hand, firmly tilting her head up for her to look at him, “no one, no one can survive without the ones they love. You may not know your family but you loved them all the same,”

Daenerys pressed her lips together as she shook her head, “no, I was a fool to think-“

“Daenerys,” she stilled, her eyes fixed on him, “you’re only as big a fool as I have been my whole life. I wouldn’t know where I would be without my brothers and sisters, without my father. At Winterfell, I fought for them, and many men I know have died for family,” he gently took her hand, “Daenerys, you don’t have to look back for a family anymore. You have a family now,”

She nodded, her eyes red rimmed and tears pooled in them, her hand holding his firmly, “I know what you did for me, Jon. No one could love me like you do. And I could never love another when I love you so,” she leaned forward then, her lips coming closer to his.

“Daenerys, Jaime Lannister-“ he said, pulling away.

She inched closer still, “I don’t want to talk of a man I am about to kill,”

“What do you want to talk of?”

“I don’t want to talk,” those very lips he longed for melded perfectly with his, moving tantalisingly against his. Her mouth was so warm and her lips so soft. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as Daenerys took his lower lip between hers firmly but slowly. When she released his lower lip, her insistent mouth parted his lips to deepen the kiss. And he was lost in the heat and the sweet taste of her. With a groan, he reached for her waist, pulling her closer to him. He felt her shift onto the bed.

A gasp and she tore away from the kiss and he followed her blindly, his lips burning against the cold, wanting her warm soft lips. But then he opened his eyes as he registered her gasp as one of pain. He followed her gaze to her thigh to see the patch of blood on the bandage rapidly spreading.

“I’m sor-,” he blurted but then he felt her hands on the sides of his face, tilting his face back up before her mouth was once against on his and she kissed him with renewed passion as if making up for the interruption before. Jon groaned. She was breathing fire and life into him at the same time and he felt every fibre of his being melt blissfully against her.

_Daenerys._

She was all he could think of, all he could remember at that moment, all he could feel. And he was never happier than in these moments; where his world shifted aside for Daenerys Targaryen to fill all of it, every inch and every nook and cranny. It was all her.

He was vaguely aware as his body vacated the space on the bed and, without breaking their kiss, guided her onto it, under him. Their hands were a flurry of movement as they rid the other of articles of clothing. When he was bare, as she was, he felt her arch her body into his just as he pressed himself to her; skin to skin. In the cold tent, her unusual warmth was to die for but Jon needed more than an escape from the cold. He needed _her_. 

He pulled back then, hearing her whimper with the loss of his lips on hers. He wanted to see her. And naked against the furs, she was as beautiful as Jon had ever seen.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon whispered, “my Queen,” he pressed an insistent kiss on her forehead then slowly move to leave a trail of kisses over her face, “my wife,” he whispered as he came upon her parted lips, the warmth within tantalising, “my life,”

Her eyes flew opened then and she looked up at him, the surprise plain in her eyes, that he would say such a thing. Her eyes searched his, as if looking for any signs of falsity in what he said.

Then she craned her neck up to press her lips to his, kissing him insistently, almost desperately for dear life. It was ironic that she behaved as such with him, he thought; when he had thought it was always him who had lived for her.

He groaned as she arched her hips into his, the sweet heat of her core tempting him as he felt it in his groin. Then he guided himself into her as she pressed her mouth closer to his, deepening the kiss, swallowing both their moans.

Tomorrow, the last Targaryens in the world would bring fire and blood to their enemies but tonight, they will love.

 

**_Tyrion_ **

He cursed as he almost slipped on the cold wet concrete floor of the dark cells. He was clutching a bright torch as he made his way down past the guards. It was pitch black here.

“Tyrion?” a voice croaked.  

Tyrion squinted and could make out the figure sat against the wall. He approached.

Jaime Lannister. The handsomest Lannister. Tyrion mused. Jaime was sat up against the wall, his head of golden hair was leant back on the wall behind him. He was wearing plain dirty prisoners garb and his feet were bare. On his wrists and ankles, there were heavy chains that were linked to the ground. He had lost weight.

“Have they not been feeding you? Or bathing you?” Tyrion wrinkled his nose. He did not remember the Queen commanding starvation for Jaime.

Jaime did not laugh as he thought he would. Instead, Jaime turned to Tyrion, his green eyes bright in the firelight, wide with what looked like fear, “what word from the Queen?”

“The Queen? I thought you saw to it to address our monarch by her name the last time you saw her?” Tyrion said scathingly.

Jaime glowered at him, “tell me!”

Tyrion glared before eventually sighing as he took in his brother’s sad state and sitting down on the bench, “she has been shot by an arrow during the first battle with Khal Kaffo-“

“What?!” Jaime shot up from his seat on the floor only to crumple to the floor in pain as his chains around his wrist snapped taut, preventing him from lifting his hand any higher than his waist when he sat, “what happened? How is she now? Is she okay?”

Tyrion raised a brow, “the battle happened and arrows were fired at our Queen. She is recovering. She is recovering,” he answered his questions sequentially and painfully slowly.

He watched Jaime clenched his teeth, his well-defined jaw tensing, “so she’s alive?”

“Yes, as is the King,” Tyrion said, “thankfully for all of us. Prince Jaehaerys would not do well to be crowned King, yet,”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Jaime seemed to calm when he heard that the Queen was alive and well.

Tyrion frowned, scratching at his beard, “he seemed to develop a penchant for lighting candles,”

Jaime raised his brows, “what do you mean?”

“He lights a candle wherever he goes, even in the day. And he has recently found out he can demand for his wet nurse to carry a candle for him wherever he goes, even in the training yard,”

“That’s…odd,” Jaime muttered.

Tyrion sighed, “yes the Targaryens do have their oddity at times,” a twinkle was seen in Jaime’s eyes as his brother finally found some humour in the situation, “so how have three months of solitary confinement been? Found your remorse behind your abnormally large pride yet?”

Jaime glared at him but Tyrion merely looked back at him with a bored expression, “Pride? This is not about my pride,” Jaime seethed.

“So why has your remorse been painfully absent during the trial?” Tyrion demanded. It has been two months since the trial and since the Queen’s departure. In total, they have received three messages from the Queen.

The first, written by the Queen, detailing the battle near the Neck and informing him of her injured state before assuring him her wound was healing well and she has secured Khal Kaffo’s Khalasar. The second message and the third, written by the King, was painfully lacking in details. It contained vague information of defeating and securing Khal Rhako’s Khalasar; amounting the Queen’s Khalasar to about 20 thousand riders strong. It would be more than enough to defeat the 10 thousand that Khal Anno was rumoured to have. Then the third message informed Tyrion that they have successful acquired Khal Anno’s Khalasar as well and they would be going to Pyke to seek the assistance of Yara Greyjoy for ships to allow the Dothraki to return to Essos.

As he received the last note from the King, with the impending arrival of the King and Queen back home, Tyrion thought he should finally pay his brother a visit; for family sake and to set Jaime’s head right for his next trial.

He knew he should probably have come sooner to visit his brother but truth be told, Tyrion was mad at his brother. Jaime could never seem to rid himself of the impulsivity that left his head hanging precariously from his neck many times in the past and even now. But Tyrion’s absence was also owing to his duties as Hand and now, ruling Regent of the Seven Kingdoms; managing courtly matters in the absence of the King and Queen.

The Dornish had replied, surprisingly favourably, to the strong worded message Tyrion had sent on behalf of the Queen. And as the Queen commanded, they have arrived within the fortnight from which the message has been sent.

Tyrion had departed the Red Keep to welcome Arianne Martell to the capital that day. She had been cordial with him as they walked to the Red Keep together. When Tyrion had informed her that the Queen and the King were not present in court as of yet and requested she made herself comfortable till they returned, she had not angered as he thought was probable. Instead, she seemed unconcerned and merely thanked him.

Arianne Martell was no Daenerys Targaryen but she was a beauty in her own right, an exotic beauty. She had large dark eyes and long black hair. In a way, her behaviour reminded Tyrion of her uncle, Oberyn Martell, when he had visited the capital years before. They had parted ways with Tyrion being acutely uncomfortable with the way she would allow her shapely hips to bump into him as they walked or the way the silks she wore, barely suitable for riding, slipped to reveal a little too much, and too little, of her ripe breasts.

Since then, Tyrion had not seen Arianne Martell around court but heard from Varys that she had been spending a lot of time in the brothels and in her own bedroom; almost constantly occupied. _At least one person in the Red Keep is happy._

But Tyrion could not be more glad Arianne Martell proved less difficult than he had expected for he had also been busy preparing for the tourney that would happen in a month’s time, soon after the Queen’s return.

He had sent invitations to all over the Seven Kingdoms, to every house, noble or so small they were almost forgotten. And as the Queen ordered, he had also sent riders out from King’s Landing to stick up notices in the villages for the common people, to invite them to come forth to King’s Landing to enjoy the feasts, in celebration of the Queen’s recovery and return. He had considered simply sending ravens to the noble houses to request that they invite the common people under their rule but Tyrion knew there would be a good chance some nobles houses would feel slighted and ignore the request altogether. So a thousand riders left King’s Landing then, sending word to the common people.

Athough the Tourney was still a month away, Tyrion had been plagued with complaints from the people of King’s Landing, of overcrowding in the city due to the smallfolk who have arrived early. They were probably eager to spot the Queen who was known across the lands for her ravishing beauty but had not yet been seen. Tyrion had been making arrangements to house the visitors in the crownlands just outside King’s Landing when he had decided to visit his brother.

“My remorse…” Jaime echoed before he barked a laugh, “do you know what you are asking? You are asking me to be remorseful for trying to save my Queen’s life, trying to make it so she would not have to risk her life to protect the common people,” Jaime snarled, “I cannot be remorseful for that,”

Tyrion sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. His head was starting to ache. Two months in solitary confinement seemed to do Jaime no good at all, “she is asking you to be remorseful for the treasonous act of calling her men to arms and war without her consent, not for trying to save her life,”

Jaime frowned, “forgive me dear brother, but the distinction escapes me,” he spat.

“Does the distinction matter so much?” Tyrion scowled, “let me make this simple for you; show remorse or you will never see the Queen you love again. For you will be dead and you would not be there to advise her or protect her,” Tyrion spat.

Jaime blinked and Tyrion could almost see the cogs turn and click into place in Jaime’s head. Then Jaime muttered, “my life is hers to take,”

Tyrion huffed in frustration, “fine, it has always been like you to throw second chances away,” Tyrion stood and reached for the torch.

“Wait,” Jaime snapped, “what second chance?”

Tyrion turned to Jaime, incredulous, “The Queen could have, would have, you executed in that Throne Room if you weren’t ‘Ser Jaime Lannister’. She showed you mercy that day, you fool; more than I have seen with men who did less treasonous an act than you did,”

“She…she did?” Jaime stammered.

“I meant it when I warned you she would kill you,” Tyrion said, solemnly, “our Queen can be vicious when she needs to be and she is especially so against traitors and treasonous men like yourself,”

Jaime seemed to not have heard that jape when he looked up again, “do you think she understands why I did what I did?”

Tyrion paused, “I do not presume to know what our Queen knows or do not know. But she spared your life that day. Surely that counts for something that you can repay by giving her the reason she wants so badly to let you live,” Jaime fell silent as he stared at the ground. Without waiting for an answer, Tyrion turned and left the cell.

He looked forward to witnessing Jaime grovel for the Queen’s forgiveness the next time in court.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**_Jon_ **

He glanced sideways at Daenerys. She was mounted on a strong grey steed, closest to white the Dothraki could find for their Khaleesi. Overhead, Drogon and Rhaegal screeched, each clutching a dead ram or goat in their claws. Jon’s wounds and Daenerys’ leg were healing well, considering the condition they were living in. Every night, they would help the other with their dressing. They had ran out of milk of the poppy that Jon had brought from King’s Landing; using most of it during battle when the distraction caused by the pain could be fatal.

It was a bloody battle, every single one after the first. But as he lived with and began to understand the Dothraki, he knew it was necessary; the battle and bloodshed. Daenerys was right. The Dothraki respected strength and now they revered theirs.

The past month spent living with the Dothraki had been eye-opening, to say the least, for Jon. He had joined quietly when Daenerys joined her men by the fireplace, eating, drinking and just talking. He watched in shock as Daenerys merely laughed as two Dothraki riders broke out into a fight over whether a bow or arakh would be better suited in a battle against an armoured opponent. There was a winner in the fight, the other man knocked into the dirt with his pride wounded and a large gash on his forehead, but there was no winner for the debate the fight started over; both did not seem to remember.

The same night, the night grew darker and the men were happy, their hunger satiated and their stomach filled with fermented mare’s milk. Jon had almost stood and drew his sword as a passing female was grabbed by a horselord around the hip and mounted in front of the fireplace. Daenerys had placed a hand on his leg then, to stop him. She shook her head, a small smile on her face. He then looked and noticed that the female was not in any form of distress and in fact, she looked like she enjoyed it. Jon could feel his face heating up then as he tried to avert his eyes. His face heated up even more as he saw that Daenerys noticed his reaction and was trying hard to hide her smile of amusement.

As time passed, Jon was starting to learn to ignore the atrocities occurring around him; Dothraki mounting females who seemed willing enough. Daenerys did not seem to pay them any mind as she spoke to another rider in Dothraki. That is until, a fight broke out. When Jon and Daenerys turned to see what the brawl was about, it turned out to be over wanting to mount the same woman. Jon was, once again, taken aback when this time, arakhs were drawn. He looked to Daenerys, wondering if she would stop it but instead, she merely looked on with a shake of her head; resignation as she watched them fight. One died that night and Jon watched as the winner proceeded to mount an entirely different woman.

By the end of the night, Jon learned three things. The first, the Dothraki fought for sport, which explained why they were so adept in battle. The second, they were passionate people and would not hesitate to act upon such passion in front of the whole Khalasar; under the stars as Daenerys put it. And the third, passion was nothing to be ashamed of here and as they entered their tent at the end of that night, Jon had showed Daenerys just how unashamed he was. She was evidently surprised but extremely pleased as well. Since that night and every night after, they gave in to their passion and love for the other, as Daenerys told him a Khal and a Khaleesi would.

“What are you thinking of?” Daenerys asked. She looked mildly amused. He realised he had been staring again.

He smiled, “you,” he replied, “us,”

Daenerys smiled, “what is it?”

“I’m glad I came with you,” he replied, “if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have understood all of this,” he glanced back to the Khalasar, riding behind them, “I wouldn’t have understood you,”

“I think you can imagine my horror when 8 men died at my wedding,” Daenerys said.

He raised his brows, “they fought at the wedding as well?”

“Especially at the wedding. It’s supposed to liven things up,” Jon thought it sounded ridiculous but he could not help but laugh as her laughter filled the air. 

They had passed the Twins, which remained unmanned since House Frey went extinct after Arya exacted her revenge. They were approaching Seagard.

“Do you know Lord Mallister?” Daenerys asked him then as they glimpsed the town gates of Seagard in the distance.

Jon shook his head, “their Overlord is House Tully of Riverrun. Even in my youth in Winterfell, I never visited the Riverlands,” he paused, _especially the Riverlands,_ “I never visited any house apart from the smaller houses in the North,” _always hidden in case his presence was a slight to the noble lords._

Daenerys nodded as she listened. If she noticed the slight sadness in his voice, she does not speak of it; not here, not now.

“I knew Denys Mallister, the uncle of Lord Mallister,” Jon said. He squinted and glimpsed men scurrying about above the town gates, probably in panic as they glimpse a Dothraki Horde approaching. The Dothraki had been a very prominent threat in Westeros for the past year and for good reason. They were fearsome fighters. Jon only hoped the men could see the Targaryen banner they flew high above them; a red three headed dragon on black.

“Lord Jason Mallister, is it?” Daenerys asked.

Jon nodded in affirmation and they fell silent as they stopped their horses in front of the closed gates of Seaguard. Above the gates, Jon counted 10 soldiers, welding crossbows, all aimed at them. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat and he urged his horse to step closer to Daenerys’. He would not have her pierced by another arrow or suffer another scratch, even if he had to throw himself in front of her to stop that from happening.

Behind Daenerys, the Dothraki were getting riled up as they witnessed the hospitality, or lack thereof, their Khaleesi was presented with. Most of them had their arakhs in their hands, waving them in the air. They were also shouting angrily in Dothraki at the soldiers. _Now, the Mallisters would definitely not let us through their gates._

Daenerys raised a hand and the Khalasar fell silent.

“Who approaches?” a man shouted.

Jon rode forward, “Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” she watched the men mumble amongst themselves before one of them ran off and disappeared behind the gate, no doubt informing their Lord of this.

They sat in silence, watching the men atop the gates, their crossbows still held at the ready. Daenerys watched the men, her face an expressionless mask. Above them, they heard a screech and when they looked up, Drogon and Rhaegal were circling them, protecting their mother and Jon. The men on the gates glanced up nervously, but stood where they were, crossbows threatening the King and Queen.

“You should have announced yourself,” Daenerys rode up to him and said then, “as King. They have known you for their King,”

Jon turned to her, “King Regent. They knew that, I made sure of it. And they should know their Queen has returned,”  

She fixed him with a stare then, “you were the King and you will always be,” her lips curved just barely and her eyes softened and Jon felt warmth flood his chest at her words and at the look in her eyes as she gazed at him. Then remembering himself, he blinked and opened his mouth to protest but before he could, the gates creaked open.

Daenerys turned away, her smile and the soft look in her eyes gone.

A party of 6 men, draped in dark grey tunics with the silver eagle of House Mallister displayed on their chest, were at the gates as it opened. They approached then, mounted on horses. At the head of the party was a young man with sandy brown cropped hair with fierce blue grey eyes. The tunic he wore had more silver than grey in it, telling of his status amongst the men. He wore a long sword with a handsome pommel at his hip, in the shape of an eagle.

As they approached the party, two Dothraki riders urged their horses past the Queen and met the men a few paces ahead, stopping them a distance away.

Jon watched the young man’s eyes dart cautiously at the Dothraki before they settled on him and then the Queen. He realised he would not be getting any closer before he dismounted his horse and dropped to one knee before them, the 5 men behind him dropping to their knees as well.

“House Mallister is most honoured to receive the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” the young man greeted loudly, his head bowed, “we deeply apologise for the hostility your Graces, we were not expecting your presence,”

“Jadilat mae (let him approach),” Daenerys said swiftly and the Dothraki turned to her for confirmation. Her look was unwavering and they nodded, urging their horses back, “No matter, you may approach, my Lord,” Daenerys told him. The Mallister men stood. The young man in the front glanced nervously at the Dothraki, his hand on the sword at his side as he walked past the Dothraki, his head held high. Jon noticed his breath caught just slightly as he approached, his blue grey eyes on the Queen. He did not blame him. This young man had never seen Daenerys, or a Targaryen for that matter; her glorious silver hair, striking lilac eyes and her beautiful face.

He swiftly bowed, careful not to stare, “My Queen,” he turned to Jon and bowed as well, “my King. I am Patrek Mallister, my Lord Father, Lord Jason Mallister is preparing supper and awaits your arrival in the Grand Banquet Hall. I have been sent to receive and escort you to him,” 

Jon nodded, “Lord Patrek, there is no need for formalities,”

“This way, your Graces,” Patrek stepped to the side and gestured them forward with a bow.

“vikovarerat jinne (stay here),” Daenerys told the rest of the Dothraki behind her before she urged her horse forward, entering Seagard with only Jon and two of the Dothraki with her, “azzohat vov (put away your weapon),” she said to the two Dothraki behind her and Jon watched them strap their arakhs to their belt, instead of wielding them.

The moment Jon entered the town, he could smell the salty air of the sea. From the gate, he could already see the castle; mounted over the sea by impressive rock formation with a single long brick bridge linking the town to the castle. As they rode through the town, Lord Patrek Mallister, now ahorse, was trotting to ride alongside them.

But the Dothraki behind Daenerys grunted fiercely, urging his horse into a sharp step to the side, cutting off his progress to the Queen, “nakho,” Daenerys raised a hand and the Dothraki urged his horse aside. Jon watched Lord Patrek ride up beside the Queen then.

“My Lord Father and I look forward to attend the Tourney and celebrate your return, my Queen,” Lord Patrek said, “You had risked your life to save our country from Winter and House Mallister has prayed for your recovery since. It is indeed the blessing of the Seven to see you in good health, my Queen,”

Tyrion has indeed sent out invitation to the Tourney and, so, announced the return of the Queen to the Noble houses.

Daenerys smiled politely at the young Lord, “you are very kind to say so, Lord Patrek,” she then turned to regard the common people of the town, indifferent as Lord Patrek returned her smile and his eyes lingered, “I look forward to meeting your Lord Father for the first time. I hear he is an honourable warrior,”

“House Mallister has always been a loyal servant to the Crown and House Tully,” Jon met Lord Patrek’s eyes across Daenerys and Lord Patrek nodded respectfully, “we have heard word from the King’s Road that the King and Queen has defeated the Dothraki and the looting and pillaging has stopped,” his eyes were shining with admiration and he looked at the Queen but Daenerys was not looking at him, neither did she seem like she heard him at all. She was watching the common people as they bowed respectfully before they watched her, curious.

She smiled at them and Jon watched as they returned her smile, albeit hesitantly. Then a small peasant girl waved at Daenerys happily. She was immediately grabbed by her mother and chided for her poor behaviour towards the Queen but Daenerys smiled brighter at the girl and raised a hand from the reins in a wave.

The mother stared in surprise, her hold on her daughter loosened. Then she smiled widely at the Queen, bowing in thanks for her forgiveness of the girl’s ‘insolence’. Daenerys nodded at the mother as they passed.

Then the smallfolk, who have probably heard of the silver Targaryen Queen’s arrival, gathered along the side of the road they rode down. All of them straining to get a glimpse of the Queen, whom they have not met. They were all smiling and some waving at the Queen and King as they passed. Daenerys smiled at them all, glowing under the sun, her braided silver hair fluttering in the breeze, as she waved to them. Daenerys was truly born to be a Queen.

Jon watched her. She was indeed easy to love and Jon could see that being Queen to the people came easily to her. More so than for Jon. When he was first presented to the people as King Regent, till the Queen got better, he had not known what to do but had forced a smile and waved stiffly. The people had then cried out his name and their thanks for saving Westeros from the dead; from Winter as termed by the singers in taverns as they sang of the Great War. He felt a genuine smile creep on his face. But then he had heard someone shout ‘Queen Daenerys’ and he felt a deep sharp ache inside him.

When Tyrion had nodded to him then to let him know it was enough, Jon all but fled back into the Red Keep. He did not want them to see his face crumpled in pain at the mention of the Queen. He could not stand there for another moment accepting their thanks to their Queen for risking her life for them and almost giving it. He could not accept their gratefulness to her when he wished she had not fought for them.

But now, as he watched her, alive and well. Jon allowed a smile as he turned to the people; who were waving and now, crying out for their King and Queen. Overhead, the dragons circled, screeching out as they set off before them towards the castle above the sea.

As they approached the castle, the doors opened and they entered, the cries of the people muffled as the heavy doors closed behind them.

They dismounted, handing the reins to the stable boys who came forward hurriedly. Daenerys met his eyes then before they both turned away to head into the castle, beside Lord Patrek.

The castle of Seagard was built to be open. Even as they walked towards the Banquet Hall, the side of the corridor facing the sea was exposed to the winds but for a short parapet. They could see the dragons circling the skies just beside the castle, their presence as assuring for the Monarchs as it was unnerving for the men of Seagard.

More than once, Jon saw Lord Patrek looking at the dragons flying close, past the corridors of the castle, his mouth agape in awe.

“The dragons are magnificent your Grace,” Lord Patrek said.

Daenerys smiled and nodded, “yes they are,”

Two page pushed open the doors to the Hall and they entered.

Within the hall, a tall lean man descended the steps hurriedly, “My King, my Queen,” he stood before them, bowing deeply.

“Lord Mallister, there is no need for such formalities,” Jon hurried forward to urge him to rise. He had known Lord Jason Mallister to be a great warrior and honourable since he was a boy. Lord Mallister straightened and they were looking into the same fierce blue grey eyes they saw in Lord Patrek. The Lord of Seagard had a head of white hair. His face was gaunt but there was an unmistakable charm that was present in his youth, in his high cheekbones.

“We apologise if we are poorly prepared for the Royal family, your Graces, we have not received word-“

“There is no need to apologise, my Lord. We have not had the opportunity to send word,” Daenerys smiled and turned to Jon.

“We apologise for imposing my Lord,” Jon said and Lord Mallister bowed, “the crown has reacquired control of the Dothraki. The Dothraki are no longer a threat and we came to seek your permission for the Dothraki to set camp by the coast of Seagard as the Queen and I journey to Pyke to meet with the Greyjoys, to discuss matters of great importance and urgency,” Jon explained.

Lord Jason Mallister listened and nodded, bowing, “House Mallister would be honoured to assist the crown in any way we can,”

Daenerys nodded, “I will leave the Dothraki with orders not to harm the people or loot property. They will be setting camp outside your walls and will provide for themselves,” she told him before she turned to the two Dothraki behind her, leaving instructions quickly in Dothraki.

Lord Mallister nodded, “when will your Graces be departing for Pyke if I may ask?”

“As soon as possible,” Jon replied.

He then turned to the squire beside him, “we will prepare our best and fastest ships-“

“Thank you, Lord Mallister but there will be no need for ships,” Daenerys said, a small smile on her face.

Lord Mallister frowned for a moment before realisation spread across his face as he looked at Daenerys; her silver hair, pale skin and lilac eyes stark against the dark walls of the Banquet Hall. As if on cue, the castle shook and a loud screech sounded.

“If we may use your balcony, Lord Mallister,” Jon said. At his nod, they turned from the Lords and headed to the large doors at the side of the Banquet Hall. The page boys rushed ahead of them, their heads bowed as they pushed the doors open.

The balcony was large and spacious, overlooking the glistening sea. They stepped out into the balcony and Jon followed Daenerys’ gaze, turning around and looking up. Drogon was perched on the rounded ceiling of the banquet hall.

“Drogon,” Daenerys said, lifting a hand to the black dragon.

Lord Mallister and his son made to follow them into the balcony but stopped short, alarmed as Drogon lowered his large head to its mother, letting her run her hand over the scales of its snout. Then Drogon made his way down from the ceiling of the Banquet Hall, blocking the door to the balcony as it planted a wing in front of Daenerys.

Jon glimpsed Lord Patrek’s eyes widened as Daenerys smiled at Drogon, stepping up onto his wing and climbing onto its back. Jon looked up at Daenerys, squinting against the sun. He watched her make her way atop Drogon’s back and make herself comfortable as she mounted Drogon. She looked at him then, smiling.

Jon then turned to the sea where Rhaegal was flying over the waters, spiralling in the air. Closing his eyes, Jon decided to try to speak with his heart; as he had with Ghost, many years ago. Jon had not tried that with Rhaegal, it was too much a painful reminder of his lost friend before. But now, Jon felt ready.

Rhaegal answered and he was ecstatic. He opened his eyes to see Rhaegal flying toward them, screeching. Drogon snorted then, a puff of black smoke emerging from its nostrils as its brother approached.

Jon watched as Rhaegal landed beside Drogon, less heavily than his brother did just moments before. Rhaegal had always been more about grace and finesse than his strength-centric, larger brother. Jon approached Rhaegal then, his hand outstretched for the dragon. A low rumbling emerged from Rhaegal’s throat as he lowered his head and his wing. Jon smiled, the scales were warm under his hands.

Before the battle, he had bonded with Rhaegal as Daenerys guided him, just for him to ride Rhaegal for the War to come. After the battle, where Daenerys was hurt, Jon had never mounted Rhaegal. He had visited the dragons once in a while but nothing more than that. It had torn at his heart to hear them screech for their mother, growing sad and angry, especially Drogon. Jon had not needed the added grief so he did not spend more time with his dragon than he thought absolutely necessary, just to make sure they were alright. But now, with his hand on Rhaegal’s snout, he was beginning to wish he had.

Jon patted Rhaegal heavily and he proceeded to mount the green dragon. As he settled, he could not help but be in awe of how the sunlight reflected off Rhaegal’s scales; each one looked like precious emerald stones.

He leaned forward and took two sharp jade coloured spikes in each hand. Looking to Daenerys then, he noticed she was already looking at him, a smirk on her lips. Jon was just pondering the reason behind that smirk when Daenerys leant forward quickly. With a screech, Drogon took the skies, flying faster than Jon had ever seen.

Realising, Jon scowled and leant forward. Rhaegal roared after his brother before launching itself off the castle. Jon squinted as the cool sea breeze kissed his face, tussling his hair. He could see Daenerys and Drogon just ahead of them.

“Faster Rhaegal!” Jon heard himself shout, exhilaration filling his middle. Rhaegal roared and with a great flap of its wings, they surged forward, approaching Drogon, “you cheated!” Jon shouted.

Daenerys turned, smirking over her shoulder before she turned back, urging Drogon to go faster. Jon growled and does the same with Rhaegal. He looked down and paused. They were flying close to the water now and Jon could see himself. He was surprised when he felt a smile spread across his lips as he looked at his reflection; the crippling weight he had always carried with the name ‘bastard’ far from his mind. _He did not even look a bastard._ In fact, Jon barely recognised himself. He looked like Aegon Targaryen, riding his own dragon.

Then it was gone as Rhaegal flew higher and away from the water. Jon looked ahead to see they were fast approaching Pyke, “we can’t lose, Rhaegal! Your Brother would lord that over you for the rest of your days!” _and so will my wife, over me._ Jon told the green dragon, laughing despite the ache of loss in his chest as he said the words to his dragon; the same words he told himself when he had sparred with Robb in the training yards or raced Robb in the woods.

Probably feeling his desperate need to win, Rhaegal surprised him when the green dragon spat a mouth of fireball at the tail of Drogon.

Drogon screeched as the fireball came closer to its tail. Drogon twisted in the air, cutting through the fireball with its wing. In that time, Rhaegal was now nose to nose with Drogon, both of them approaching Pyke swiftly. Drogon roared in anger and arched back its head just slightly, its parted jaw revealing the glowing depth of its mouth. Jon’s eyes widened as he realised what Drogon was about to do. He leaned quickly and Rhaegal obeyed, banking to the right, away from Drogon.

“ _Drōgon daor!_ (Drogon no!)” Daenerys shouted but Drogon had already done it. Hot black flames streamed from its open mouth towards them and Rhaegal was not far enough yet.

Then Jon grunted to guide Rhaegal. Rhaegal twisted up, the flames skimming its scaled belly with Jon, unscathed, on its back. Jon grinned and proceeded to lead Rhaegal to Pyke, aware of Drogon and Daenerys behind him. As he landed Rhaegal on the wide empty beach on the side of the island, he was grinning so widely his face ached, probably from the unfamiliar use of his facial muscles. It was indeed true that Jon could not remember the last time he had felt such thrill and exhilaration. He patted Rhaegal heavily on the side of his neck in praise. A soft screech escaped the green dragon.

Drogon roared as he landed heavily on the beach.

“Now who was the one who cheated?” Daenerys scoffed playfully from atop Drogon. A low growl was still emitting from Drogon and before Jon and Rhaegal could do anything, Drogon swept its great black tail, stirring and dousing Jon and Rhaegal in great amounts of sand. Jon coughed and Rhaegal screeched loudly, shaking its long body to get rid of the sand but the sand came up over Rhaegal’s legs and covered the whole of Rhaegal’s left wing.

Daenerys laughed atop Drogon and Jon stared, his heart in his throat. He had never seen her laugh like this; her head thrown back in the air, her petite frame shaking with mirth, a face of pure happiness. There was a youthfulness and innocence about her that he cherished. He felt a smile spread across his face.

She was still laughing as Jon dusted sand from his garbs, dismounting Rhaegal. He was walking to her by the time she quelled her amusement enough to dismount Drogon, or attempt to, through sudden fits of laughter. He stood beside Drogon, arms waiting for Daenerys to descend, unknowing to her.

As she was within arms’ length, Jon grabbed her around the waist. She cried out in surprise, expecting to fall back but he held her in his arms, firmly, “what did you say?” he whispered.

Jon felt her body completely relax against his as her hands made a half-hearted effort to pry his arms from around her but they were locked firmly.

“Who cheated?” he whispered.

Daenerys craned her neck around to look at him as best as she can. Her lilac eyes were bright with life and love as she looked at him. Suddenly, she laughed. Then he felt his resolve, to lord his win over her and demand an apology, soften and entirely disappear.

When he realised she was laughing _at_ him, he feigned a scowl but knew he was failing as the corner of his lips twitched. Daenerys, finally giving up in freeing herself, turned in his embrace to face him. Between fits of laughter, she reached a hand up and dusted his black hair. He sighed as large amount of sand showered his shoulders.

“You deserved that for attacking your Queen,” she said, a playful twinkle in her eyes. Her braid was looser and windswept from the flight, her cheeks flushed from the exhilaration and she looked beautiful.

Jon could not help but lean in to kiss her.

“No!” Daenerys said simply, leaning back in his embrace. Her hands then went to his mouth, trying to brush sand from his beard. Her lips pressed thinly together as she tried but failed to quell her mirth that was beginning to shake her petite frame. Jon was not deterred by her refusal, insistently leaning forward to capture her lips on his and she leaned away still, “no, I do not want sand in my mouth,” she insisted.

Jon pressed a firm kiss on the alabaster skin of her exposed neck then, looking at her with stern eyes, “neither did I,”

She giggled and she could not have appeared less queenly than she sounded at that moment but Jon only felt his heart swell with love at that sound, knowing he could die happy if only he could hear it again.

Then they heard a warning growl from Rhaegal and Daenerys instantly stepped back as Jon dropped his arms. They were Queen and King once more. Drogon shifted and they glimpsed men, dressed in dark sea coloured garbs, dotted white with dried salt approaching. In their hands, they clutched swords and axes; Ironborn.

As they saw the Queen and the King once Drogon shifted to reveal them, they dropped to one knee, “my King, my Queen,”

“Rise,” Daenerys stepped forward, her hands clasped before her, “I would like to speak with Lady Greyjoy, bring me to her,”


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**_Daenerys_ **

“My Queen,” Daenerys entered the hall of Pyke to see Lady Yara rise from the chair at the head of the table. She approached and knelt before her and the King.

“Rise Lady Yara,” Daenerys said as she approached the Lady of the Iron Island. Lady Yara rose to her feet, meeting Daenerys’ eyes with a smile. Lady Yara lifted her arm, her hand open. Daenerys clasped it, her hand over her elbow. Beside them, she glimpsed Jon approaching Theon Greyjoy and they clasped hands.

“It’s good to see you well, my Queen,” Lady Yara’s dark blue eyes looked into hers, “we heard word of your conquest of the Dothraki screamers, you and the King, atop 2 fearsome dragons. So how may I be of service?”

Daenerys smiled, “it’s good to see you, Lady Yara,” the Ironborn have always been loyal, the first noble house of Westeros to swear their allegiance to Daenerys. Although, then, it was done to seek personal revenge, eventually, Lady Yara proved herself to be a loyal and trustworthy ally and Daenerys had not forgotten, “we would need your largest ships,”

Lady Yara nodded, “and the Ironborn will provide. How many would you need?” Daenerys did not miss that she had not ask of their purpose. 

“300 ships,” Jon said.

Lady Yara turned to the King, bowing respectfully, “it shall be prepared immediately,”

“Don’t you want to know what it is for?” Daenerys mused.

Lady Yara smiled at her, “Daenerys Targaryen paid the iron price on behalf of the Ironborn. We have stopped reaving, as you bid. We have stopped raping, as you bid. And we have stopped taking thralls, as you bid,” Daenerys remembered. She had accepted the alliance of the Greyjoys on those terms, especially the last, where the Ironborn used to take slaves from villages they raided, “the men born on this island grow up knowing we owe Daenerys Targaryen-”

“No, Lady Yara. The Iron island is sworn to the crown but you do not owe anything to me,” Daenerys replied, “ _you_ paid the iron price for your home when you fought with me,” Daenerys looked around the room, locking eyes with the men who sat at the table with Yara, who now stood. She looked at Lady Yara, “the ships would be used to bring the Dothraki across the narrow sea, back to Essos,”

Lady Yara nodded and she did not ask more. She had evidently heard of the trouble the Dothraki had been causing on the mainland since the war, “the Iron fleet will be ready by midday,”

Daenerys nodded, “good,”

“Would your Graces be staying the day?”

Daenerys turned to Jon and when their eyes met, she knew what he was thinking for she was thinking the same thing. _They had to return to the capital. They have left their baby boy alone for far too long; a dragon amongst sheep but a dragon alone nonetheless; without his mother and father and without his brothers._

As an understanding settled in the look they exchanged, Jon turned to Yara Greyjoy, “we will be leaving with the fleet to make sure the Dothraki sail for Essos. Then we will be returning to the capital,”

She nodded, “the Ironborn will be sailing there in a fortnight. We are deeply honoured to be invited to attend your Tourney, your Grace,”

Daenerys allowed a small smile and a nod.

* * *

“Khaleesi, Shafka dothras chek (My Queen, may you ride well),”

Daenerys nodded to the three Dothraki horselords who knelt before her. She had chosen them for their strength and leadership; her _kos_ who will now lead the Khalasars in Essos.

“Dothrakh haj ma chek, Qoy qoyi (Ride strong and well, blood of my blood),” They rose and she looked them each in the eye. Then they nodded and turned to board the ships. They were raised to fear the poison water but Daenerys watched as they boarded the ship, no trepidation or fear. Such was the loyalty of the Dothraki; they would die for her. But it was also fragile and she cannot keep them here.

She caught the eye of the captain of the ship and nodded to him; leave to depart from the Queen.

She watched as the ships began to move away from the harbour at Seagard and until they were out of sight. _Drogo_. A lifetime ago, he had promised her Seven Kingdoms and although he could not fulfil it himself, his people saw to that and Drogon, the dragon who was named after him, saw to that as well. _He swore to me, before the Mother of Mountains and the stars._ And as she watched the Dothraki depart, she would consider his vows fulfilled. She had Seven Kingdoms now. But him or his vows, Daenerys knew he could only carry her so far. _Now…_

Then Daenerys turned to Jon; her King _consort,_ as Jon had insisted. But not a moment in the battle with the Dothraki or in their tent under the furs had she thought of him as anything but her King. How could she when Jon was born to be a King; when he looked every bit a King atop Rhaegal, when every time the people look to him, they knew him to be a King and when every time she looked at him-

“You truly are the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea,” Jon said, his grey eyes shining with pride in the bright light that reflected off the beautiful and clear ocean that he was looking across. His thick black locks were tied back from his face, as was only practical. She stared for a moment longer at her husband; her handsome King who did not want to be King. His chiselled jaw underneath his beard tightened momentarily and she followed the movement to his throat where he swallowed, just barely visible. Then his eyes turned to her and she dropped her gaze.

Then what he said came back to her and she felt a lump form in her throat, “no longer,” she said, brushing past him and began walking to an open clearing where Drogon and Rhaegal lay, resting. From afar, the common people of Seagard were watching the dragons, in awe and fear but they did not dare approach for even the slightest movement could stir an annoyed snort in Drogon; sending some of the people running away in fright.

“You still are,” Jon fell in step beside her, “it’s a part of you, your past. It’s who you are,”

“Do you believe that?” Daenerys stopped and turned to him.

“Our past makes us who we are,” Jon replied, “I would not be the man I am today if I did not join the Night’s Watch or been raised Ned Stark’s bastard son,”

Daenerys inclined her chin in acknowledgement and some agreement. He was right of course; he usually was. She would not be who she was today without having been an exiled princess or death of her Khal and her son. But she could not help but feel that was something she could do without. Jon was a brave man, and strong, to acknowledge that his past sufferings were all a part of him and so, he would do nothing to change it. Daenerys did not feel strong, she had never but she knew the words; _if I look back, I am lost._

He was watching her, a soft look in his eyes as she turned from him and went to Drogon, mounting him, for the flight back home.

As she looked up to gaze across the waters, to see that the iron fleet was already out of sight, she felt strangely empty. 

 

**_Jon_ **

She was being distant. Jon could feel it even as he stood beside her as they watch the Dothraki leave on the Iron fleet. Her face was an expressionless mask of a Queen that Jon knew was her armour as the term Bastard was for him. He had seen her put it on in front of her people but now, Jon knew it was not merely that. She put on the mask to keep her feelings inside; as she must have been used to. Sometimes, being a Queen can be lonely. _But I am here, her King._ He thought, as if willing her to hear him.

He watched her incline her chin at what he told her, her face frustratingly impassive. Then he steeled his resolve and he reached out for her. But as he did, she turned away and began walking to Drogon before he could hold her.

She was still wearing her Dothraki garbs and her hair braided with bells in it. Jon now knew, she was Dothraki and they were her people, the first she knew, the first she could call her own. They were with her as she rose, from the meek girl to the strong Queen she was today.

But no matter how hard Jon tried, he could never imagine Daenerys to be a meek girl she described herself to be as they lay, spent, in bed in the darkest hours of the night. A girl who swallowed insult and beatings all the same from her own brother. But in a way, it was a strength; Jon understood, to be able to take it, over and over again not knowing when or if it will ever end.

He had always thought Daenerys has always had a strength about her; from the first moment he saw her. It pained him to think she ever had a time in her life where she had to use this strength, just to keep herself from falling apart. And it was something Jon selfishly drew from her when he lay in bed with her in the dark, feeling utterly terrified for the War to come. He would hold her close and it would make him stronger and give him the courage he needed to leave.

He needed her. If it was not for Daenerys, Jon could not imagine himself surviving the Great War. It was not that he couldn’t but he wouldn’t. He had told Melisandre before the battle for Winterfell that if he fell on the battlefield, she was not to revive him again. He had told her that and he meant it. Long before the Great War, he had been ready to die, ironically after he had died and was brought back. Life no longer meant anything to him and he was happy if he could die, this time, with a purpose.

As he rose from the dead, he felt as if he had left his soul behind and only came back with a beating heart and a set of lungs that still drew breath. Jon did not care for his life, his heart or the breath he took; he would fight but he knew he would be glad, relieved, for it to truly end.

But the Gods always had a twisted sense of humour. Just when he had come to terms with his imminent second death, he met Daenerys. Falling in love with her easy. Jon fell without realising it and while they were at odds with the other no less.

He only realised during the battle on the frozen lake when he had been so close to death. He realised he was fighting harder than he ever did. But he did not know why until she came for her. She did not merely saved him with her dragons that day. Her very existence had drove him to stab every wight that sought to kill him, it allowed him to wield his sword to defend his life tirelessly. He had fought to return to her without realising he was fighting harder, for her; so he could ease the flash of worry he thought saw in her eyes as she had futilely denied him permission to leave.  

As he mounted Rhaegal, he watched her adjust herself and urged Drogon up from his rest. The black dragon snorted but rose nonetheless, shaking its great big head before preparing to fly. She then looked up at gaze across the waters one more time and he gazed at her.

Melisandre might have brought his body back but Daenerys brought Jon Snow back.

 

**_Jorah_ **

His head was pounding within his helmet and perspiration was beading on his forehead and running down his face. But he would not leave. The wet nurse and the handmaidens had long left, muttering some excuse to fetch food for the Prince’s supper, to change the sheets and one had just left on the Prince’s command to fetch more candles.

“My Prince, there are enough candles,” He felt he needed to say.

In front of the fireplace, the Crown Prince sat. His thick curly silver hair pulled back to the back of his head, exactly as the King did. In the firelight on the Prince’s face, Jorah could see a flicker of the Queen but then in the blink of an eye, he could also see the King, especially in the grey Stark eyes, which were now turned to him, “ _Daor_ …” the Prince muttered. Jorah approached slowly and could see the tears welled up in those eyes.

“Pardon, my Prince?” Jorah frowned, realising he did not understand what the Prince had said.

“No,” the Prince said, louder this time. His tone resolute; steel.

“It is too hot in your chambers already, my Prince,” Jorah said gently.

Jaehaerys pursed his lips, “my name is Jaehaerys,” he stood up and stood before Jorah. The Prince looked up at him but Jorah felt as if he was the one who was looking up to the Prince, “you will call me by my name,”

“Might I ask why, my Princ- Jaehaerys?” Jorah asked.

“Everyone calls me Prince now,” Jaehaerys said quietly.

Jorah felt his brows raise behind his helm, “that is because you are a Prince. A Crown Prince,”

Jaehaerys frowned, “that’s what Father said but I don’t want to be a Prince anymore,” he turned from Jorah and walked to the fireplace, where the largest fire Jorah had seen lit in a fireplace was dancing, licking dangerously close to the Prince.

“Why not?” Jorah stepped forward, beside the Prince, despite the sweltering heat from the fireplace. Jorah felt he could cook alive in his armour.

Jaehaerys looked up at him, “because that means my Father is King and my Mother is Queen, doesn’t it?”

Jorah nodded.

“It means they would have to protect the people,” Jaehaerys stared into the fire, “they would have to _leave_ ,”

Jorah felt a lump form in his throat at his words.

“Take off your helmet,” Jaehaerys said.

Jorah did, gratefully as a breath of fresh air came to him. As he did, he glanced around the chambers. It was lit by double the number of candles than was normally needed for a chamber this size; on the Prince’s strict orders.

Outside the window, Jorah could see the sky was beginning to set but the sky was still bright.

But Jorah knew the Prince did not light the candles to see. He lit them because he was cold, he had said to the wet nurse when she told him he did not need so many candles in the day.

The Queen and King had been gone for 2 moons but Tyrion had assured him the Queen was alive and well and had defeated the Dothraki. Jorah did not realise he had been worrying for the Queen till Tyrion had assured him; when he felt a weight lift off his shoulders and his chest, allowing him to breathe easy once again. He had told the Prince but the Prince had only nodded absently, sitting by the fireplace.

Jorah knew without a doubt, the Queen was the bravest and most selfless Queen the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen and will ever see. But the pride that swelled in his chest at that thought did little to quell the uneasiness and fear that took root in his stomach and threaten to eat him from the inside at the thought of the Queen being shot at from her dragon.

“Did you always know my Mother, Ser Jorah?” Jaehaerys asked suddenly.

Jorah turned to see the Prince looking curiously at him. He nodded, “since the Queen was almost just a child,”

Jaehaerys’ eyes widened, “at my age?”

Jorah smiled, “no, not that young, my Pri-“ Jorah caught himself at that slip, “Jaehaerys. She was a lot of older than you were. Three ten,”

Jaehaerys nodded absently before he asked again, “what was she like then?”

Jorah felt his smile widen unwittingly as he could still vividly remember, how Daenerys looked on her wedding day, she looked scared then but he did not recall seeing that look on her since she walked out of the funeral pyre, “your Mother was very beautiful; the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,”

Jaehaerys smiled then, “I know, everyone says that,” his grey eyes lit up with joy and pride. And Jorah was remiss to realise now, the Prince had not smiled in a while.

“She is also very kind,” Jorah said, remembering how she had stopped the entire horde of Dothraki when she saw the slaves who were on foot become tired from walking so long, “and very brave,”

Jaehaerys’ eyes fell then, his smile fading and he turned back to gaze into the fire, “I know that too. She would not protect the people if she was not,” he muttered.

Jorah felt his brows furrow. Then he knelt, gingerly wincing as his knees popped inside his armour, “Jaehaerys,” The prince looked up, “why do you light so many candles and such a large fire?”

Jaehaerys turned back to the fire, reaching a hand towards it. Jorah panicked when he saw the little fingers touch the dancing flames. They flickered and licked his fingers, as if encouraging the Prince. Without thinking, he grabbed the Prince’s arm and pulled his hand back. He looked at the Prince to see the Prince’s eyes twinkling with mirth. Jorah then looked down at the Prince’s little hand to see it entirely unscathed and then he remembered, Jaehaerys had emerged unburnt from his ride on Drogon when the King’s back was entirely burnt, “I feel cold,” Jaehaerys replied him quietly.

Jorah turned the Prince’s hand and held his little hand in his large gloved ones. His hand was burning, “do you need your cloak-“

“No,” Jaehaerys turned to the flames but did not pull his hand from Jorah’s, “I would feel cold anyway. I need fire. Fire will keep me warm. Mother promised it would. She promised she would be here with me…”

Then realisation dawned on Jorah. _When you light a fire, Jaehaerys, you will know that no matter where I may be, I love you and as the heat of that fire will keep you warm, I will be there with you._

He had been naïve and even stupid to think he would be the only one missing the Queen; that just because the Prince did not speak of the Queen, he did not miss his Mother. It was then did Jorah realise how much his Mother’s son he really was.

In the time he was with her, since her time with the Dothraki, he had never heard Daenerys lament about her predicament, no matter how bad it was. He knew her first few days riding with the Dothraki would be the hardest; when blisters would form on her thighs and the reins would rub her palms raw and still she had to ride. When in the night, she would have to take a man she did not love and he would not be gentle with her. But she has never uttered a word of complaint or tell him how much she suffered.

And her son was the same. He missed his Mother but he would never tell anyone, even if it ate him up from the inside and devoured him whole. And when Jorah looked at the Prince again, he saw Daenerys; his silver hair the exact same shade as his mother’s, lighter than Viserys’ had been. His lips and cheekbones were hers as well. Jorah knew this time he could not stand by and watch it happen again; not to her son who was only a child.

Gently, with his free hand, he touched the Prince’s shoulder, his other hand squeezing the Prince’s hand, “Jaehaerys, we all miss the Queen,” he watched tears well up in those grey stranger eyes, “but she will be home soon. The Queen and the King.”

“When?” Jaehaerys demanded in a strangled voice.

“Sooner than you think,” Jorah told him, palming the back of the Prince’s silver hair and drawing him in. The Prince hesitated before walking closer and wrapping his arms around his neck. Gently, he stroked the Prince’s back and Jorah realised how little the Prince still was, how very young; too young to wear such a look on his face, to think like this and to feel this way.  

Jorah could feel the heat radiating from the Prince’s skin and Jorah knew it was not the heat from the fire, it was from the blood of the dragon, burning a path through his veins. He heard a sniff from the Prince but he never saw a tear leave the Prince’s eyes that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all your comments :)


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**_Jorah_ **

It was late into the night and Jaehaerys had ordered Jorah to sit down with him on the furs before the fire. Despite the heat, Jorah complied and sat stiffly. Jaehaerys had then turned to him and eyed his armour curiously. Just as Jorah was explaining to Jaehaerys the usefulness and drawbacks of an armour, a loud roar was heard. They both startled. Jorah instinctively reached out to draw the Prince to him. But then the Prince wiggled out of his grasp, shoving at him with surprising strength.

“ _Muña! Kepa!_ (Mother! Father!),” the Prince screamed as he ran out the room. Men cowered in fear at that sound but the Targaryens, they eagerly approached.

Jorah stood quickly and he raced after the Prince. The Prince was merely a child but he was fast as he took off down the corridor, leaving Jorah, Aggo and one of the Kingsguard running after him.

They ran after the Prince as he rose the steps and then turned into a large courtyard that Jorah knew overlooked the Godswood. He ran quicker, feeling panic rising as the Prince disappeared from his sight. When he turned the corner, the Queen was on the balcony with the King, watching the dragons fly away. They seemed not to have noticed the Prince but they turned when he approached, his armour clinking with every step he took. The Queen’s eyes fell on him first.

“ _Muña_ ,” the Prince called, his voice thin and soft. He watched her lilac eyes fall to her son and she was no longer a Queen, she was a mother.

“Jaehaerys,” Daenerys whispered as she walked towards her son. Jaehaerys’ feet seemed stuck to the ground as he watched his mother approach and pick him up in her arms, “oh my sweet boy,” she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Jaehaerys sniffed just a little. Then he drew back and placed a hand on her cheek.

“ _Muña, issi ao jāre aril?_ (Mother, are you leaving again?)” Jaehaerys asked quietly.

Something akin to hurt flashed across her eyes, “ _daor, ñuha riña, daor syt iā jēda_ (no, my child, not for a time),”

Jorah glimpsed tears trail down the Prince’s pale cheeks, “ _Kivio_ (promise),” he choked out, his little body beginning to shake.

“ _Nyke kivigon_ (I swear),” Daenerys pressed a kiss over his eyes.

Jaehaerys nodded and smiled through his tears. Then Jaehaerys looked over Daenerys’ shoulder and reached for his Father, “Father!”

The King’s smile widened as he approached, respectfully keeping his distance before. The King took the Prince’s outstretched hand in his, pressing a kiss to the Prince’s palm. Then Jaehaerys wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling the King closer to him and burying his face into the King’s neck. The King pressed a kiss atop his silver hair, whispering, “everything will be alright, Jaehaerys,” Jaehaerys nodded. Then the Queen looked over the Prince’s shoulder, at Jorah and nodded to him, gratefulness in her eyes. Humbled beyond measure, he bowed. A small smile graced her lips but her smile was sad as she reached a hand up to stroke her son’s silver hair.

As he watched them, Jorah suddenly remembered from before the War, at Winterfell, what Daenerys had told him. She had said it when they spoke of the news they had just heard, that Viserion had turned into a wight. _The dragon has three heads._

_Now it has._

****

**_Jon_ **

He stirred and immediately, the first thing he felt was the unfamiliar chill on his skin on the right side of his body. As he blinked sleep from his eyes, he felt his hand wander instinctively to the space beside him and felt a warm body. He looked to see his son’s cherubic sleeping face, half of it pressed into the sheets. His silver locks were fanned out around his face. Jon felt himself smile as he gazed at his son.

Jaehaerys looked so peaceful while he slept. His lips, which were the very image of his wife’s, were slightly pouted in his sleep and under his eyelids, his eyes moved aimlessly. He was dreaming. Jon turned to lay on his side as he lifted a hand, gently brushing aside a silver lock of hair from his face, allowing the tips of his calloused fingers to touch Jaehaerys’ cheek just barely.

The poor boy had looked so broken and lost on that balcony, even as he saw his mother and his father. And Jon felt regret sink deep within him; for leaving his son. In the four years, when they were all the other have in a way, they were never apart from long. Jon was reluctant to leave King’s Landing for Jaehaerys’ sake. And Jaehaerys wandered about the Red Keep everyday but would always seek out his father.

Before his son, Jon had never thought it possible to love someone you never knew but Jon did, from the moment he knew of his child, growing inside Daenerys; merely a small swell of her abdomen.  Then as the Maesters had pulled Jaehaerys from his mother and set the squalling babe in his arms, he looked into his son’s face and realised he would do anything for him; even the thing he hated the most, to kill. Jon felt almost frightened to realise one person could have such power over another.

 _Father, don’t leave me ever again_. Jaehaerys had murmured as he settled into bed the night before. Jon had not replied then. He felt he could make no such promise. Both him and Daenerys were no ordinary people, they had a duty towards the Seven Kingdoms and he would live to be a man of honour and fulfil his duty; as his father Ned Stark had, all his life.

More often than not, in his life, the difficult choices were the right ones and Jon had always made those difficult choices; because they were right. But this time, he knew had been selfish and he had taken the easy one; to be King Consort. At that thought, shame settled deep inside him. As much as Jon wanted to deny it, he was King. Their time away from the Red Keep showed him that; as he rode Rhaegal alongside Daenerys, as he looked into the awed expression of the people as they saw him, as he watched the Lords greet him and regard him as nothing less than a King. And _Daenerys_ … when she was with him, it was like she knew not of how else to treat him but like an equal. She was his Queen only as he was her King.

At that thought, he turned to lay on his back, looking around the dimly lit chambers. The curtains were fluttering with a gentle breeze that blew into the chambers, concealing his view of the balcony. Then as a particularly strong breeze swept them aside, he saw her, standing with her back to him, looking out from the balcony. She was wearing a black collar that held her white dress but her back was left bare. Her hair was no longer in a Dothraki braid but instead, had a few simple braids that circled her head, leaving the rest of her long silver hair loose down her back.

Jon turned to lay on his side as he watched his wife. It did not escape his notice that it has yet to be the break of dawn but the Queen was up and already dressed.

They had returned to their chambers, which was traditionally the chamber the reigning monarch would sleep in. They both knew that in the past, Kings and Queens had separate chambers and would often use them; the King going to the Queen when he wished. But no words needed to be said as they walked towards the royal chambers and both entered the same one.

Daenerys had not spoken to him properly since the harbour at Seagard. She had focussed all her attention on Jaehaerys, as he so deserved. But Jon could not help but feel as if there was a wall between them and it was keeping her and her troubles in and him out. And both of them could scream but neither could hear the other. Even as she spoke gently to Jaehaerys, Jon could see that she was troubled. He had wanted to speak with her when they dismounted from the dragons but Jaehaerys and Jorah came before he could.

He did not know what bothered her and Daenerys was one who had evidently been used to shouldering the burden of ruling all by herself, and was now forced to. She was not a person who would lay her troubled heart open. Even when her slender shoulders threaten to keel under the weight of the burden that was now the realm, she would not let her husband share it. She would not burden him, especially when he had so explicitly indicated he would prefer not to be King.

As the sun rose, setting the sky ablaze with colours of orange and pink, Jon gazed at the back of his Queen. It was painful how cold she looked against the warm rising sun. She was the Queen of Westeros and Essos and she was alone.

 

**_Daenerys_ **

Daenerys had woken when the sky outside was still black and the castle quiet. She had turned to her side to watch her son and her husband sleep and for a moment her heart was full, seeing them lay there; alive, peaceful and safe. Jaehaerys had snuggled closer to her in his sleep, a pale arm draped over her middle. But under the sheets, Daenerys was amused to see that Jaehaerys had a leg over his father’s, his little body sprawled over the large bed.

She brushed her fingers over her son’s hair before slipping out from the bed. Daenerys had left the bed chambers and to the adjoining dressing room. Picking up a brush, she had made to brush out her hair that was still in a semblance of her Dothraki braid that she had loosened hastily the night before and removed the bells. But before she could put the brush to her hair, the door to her dressing room that led from the solar opened softly.

She looked into the mirror to see Missandei. The girl was already dressed and fully awake.

“Your Grace,” Missandei bowed, “let me,” she approached.

Daenerys let her take the brush and sat while Missandei expertly ran the brush through her hair, “did I wake you?”

“This one is used to rising early, your Grace,” Missandei replied and there was a beat of silence, then she added, “but I heard sounds and knew your Grace has awakened,” Daenerys met Missandei’s eyes in the mirror and they exchanged a smile.

“I apologise for waking you so early,” Daenerys told her.

Missandei looked at her hair as she brushed it out, “is there something troubling you, your Grace?”

Daenerys turned to look at Missandei, “I have told you that you need not call me that when we are alone. Nothing has changed,”

Missandei nodded in acknowledgement, a smile. Then she placed the brush aside and began braiding her hair.

“I don’t know what to feel, Missandei,” Daenerys admitted, “At the tourney, I would be presented to the people as their Queen. I am to be Queen soon.”

“The people would love you, your Gr-“

Daenerys turned to her, her brow raised meaningfully but her lips curved and Missandei stopped herself, her lips curving up in a smile as well. Daenerys turned back and Missandei continued braiding her hair, “that’s what they all say; Tyrion, Jon, Jorah, Jaime,”

“You are a good Queen,”

Daenerys frowned, “but what _is_ a good Queen, Missandei?” Missandei was quiet, “you chose to follow me, as did the Unsullied and Dothraki. But the people of Meereen and the Masters of the Free Cities did not and they did not love me because they did not get to choose; just as the people of the Seven Kingdoms did not get to choose…”

“They have yet to choose,” Missandei corrected gently, “but when they do, they will choose the Queen we chose,”

“Things are going to be different, Missandei,” Daenerys told her, “to save the common people, there would be no choice for the Noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. They will live in the new world I want to build, or die. I can’t have them to choose and choose to be free. Their freedom must be sacrificed for a new world, where the rich does not crush those on the ground as they fight among themselves for power,”

Missandei nodded, “you will do what must be done and we will understand when we see you have not forgotten or fail the people,”

Daenerys forced a smile at that; taking whatever small comfort her confidante could offer; her absolute faith in Daenerys’ ability as Queen. But her head was truly starting to pound and she mentally took note to seek Tyrion’s counsel on this matter. She closed her eyes to rest as Missandei finished up her braids and left to bring a dress to her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Missandei approaching. Daenerys rose to look at the two dresses Missandei brought to her.

Missandei laid both dresses out side by side. One of them was a Westerosi dress, suitable to be worn in the capital and fit for a Queen. The bodice was a thick heavy corset, almost like armour. A three headed dragon was embroidered on the centre of the bodice. The dress was a mix of black and red that left her shoulders bare. The sleeves were long and could touch the floor. Daenerys fingered the smooth heavy fabric. Then she turned to the other by its side. It looked painfully simple compared to the first one. This one resembled what she wore at Meereen. It was white and the fabric was light and soft under her touch. There was a black collar in the shape of a dragon that held the front of the dress.

“This one,” Daenerys said.

Missandei nodded and proceeded to help her put it on.

Then Daenerys had thanked and dismissed Missandei as she entered the bedchambers. On the bed, Jon was now lightly snoring and she felt her lips curve in amusement. Beside him, Jaehaerys had shifted in his sleep to occupy her side of the bed.

She slipped out into the balcony, revelling in the feel of the cool breeze and fresh air, taking away the incessant pounding in her head.

As Daenerys watched the dark horizon, she was reminded of what happened at the battle with Kaffo’s Khalasar. She had burned them, even as they had surrendered and stopped fighting her. She had never felt such rage. And as she had watched Drogon’s black fire consume, she felt as if she was consumed as well. It blotted out everything that was her. She no longer remembered who she was or what she was doing. She only knew she wanted fire and blood from those beneath her, her enemies. Then Jon had interrupted on Rhaegal but she did not see him in a way. She had only saw another enemy and felt more rage at the interference and they had fought.

Daenerys remembered when Jon’s voice had cut through her rage like the sun that pierced the dark sky on the horizon. She realised then the battle was won and she claimed the Dothraki as her own. But the fire in her had never completely gone out until Jon came to her, until he held her. They have not spoken of this and Daenerys was not sure she wanted to. She knew little herself. So every time Jon looked to have something on the tip of his tongue, hesitating to speak, she would not let him.

Then in semi-darkness, she glimpsed candle lights from the houses in King’s Landing as the people begin to wake. Smoke began to rise from chimneys and Daenerys could almost smell the scent of bread baking. She had heard from Tyrion before how King’s Landing was anything but beautiful. It had stank for as long as he could remember. But Daenerys had woken only to a city carrying the mild scent of sweat and activity as the people went about their chores. There was no smell of shit or piss or smoke or rotting flesh that Tyrion had mentioned.

Daenerys had heard that Jon and Tyrion had ensured that there were proper drains and sewers in King’s Landing. It was almost a reminder what she has done for her people beyond conquering them; nothing. Even the conquering had been done for her, by Jon, while she slept. In all honesty, apart from her desire to rule alongside Jon, she had wanted him to remain King simply because he deserved to rule more than she did. He had done more for the Seven Kingdoms and he was the rightful heir; the son of her brother. _If only he was not so reluctant, and stubborn…_ but on further thought, she supposed those were the traits of a good ruler; one who did not seek it but had the tenacity for it.

Then there was the matter of Ser Jaime Lannister; an honorary member of the Queensguard of Daenerys Targaryen, the first of her name. His title was beginning to sound like a mockery. Daenerys sighed, feeling the pounding in her head beginning to return. It was as if the Gods were mocking her; first with the betrayal of her handmaiden, Doreah, then with Ser Jorah and now with Ser Jaime. And with his betrayal on the first thing she wanted to do after she woke. Doreah had died for her betrayal. Ser Jorah was a changed man so she had forgiven him and beyond that, she knew in her heart she could never have him executed; so she exiled him.

But with Ser Jaime, the man was proud and confident and sure of what he did. He had said he was trying to fight for her, to protect her but his intentions did not make his actions right. And Daenerys has never appreciated to have her battles fought for her. She made sure the men she was with knew that. Drogo knew that and he allowed her to defend herself against Mago’s words, Jorah knew that when he could only watch as she walked into Drogo’s funeral pyre, Daario knew that when she had snapped at him upon his constant offer of protection. And for the greatest battle of her life, she had left Daario behind at Meereen. Ser Jaime would understand or he would pay for it with his life.

The sun was truly beginning to rise then and Daenerys watched, in awe as it spilled its colours into the dark sky. This world truly was beautiful. _And it has all fallen to me to make sure it stays so._ She sighed.

Then Daenerys jumped as she felt warm hands snake around her waist. At first she panicked but then she felt a soft kiss on the back of her head and when she breathed in, it was a sweet familiar and comforting earthy scent of pine needles that she had smelled in winter; when she first saw snow fall. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling of their bodies fitting perfectly against the other, the bare skin of her back pressed against the front of his bare torso. It was ironic, a thought came to her. He was Ice and she was Fire but she melted against him as she never had with another man.

She felt his strong arms encircle her waist completely and he held her firmly against him, as if she had not pressed herself close enough to him already. She could feel his breath on her bare shoulder as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to it. Daenerys thought he would stop then, as he usually did but Jon Snow was not feeling his usual, evidently. He left a trail of hot and wet kisses along her shoulder and proceeded to her neck. Her eyes still closed, she felt her head tilt to the side, baring the expanse of her neck to him. Then she felt his tongue dart out, licking her skin enticingly as he made his way up her neck and to her ear.

Daenerys felt her hands tightened around his strong arms, the skin on her arm pimpled as Jon’s tongue was replaced with his teeth over the shell of her ear. “Jon,” she sighed and it was not the voice of a Queen but of a wife, who was increasingly pleased with her husband.

“I love you, Daenerys,” he whispered fiercely into her ear.

Daenerys felt her eyes open then and she turned to look at him. His grey eyes were bright and piercing under the light of the rising sun, “are you alright?” she could not help but feel a twinge of concern at his uncharacteristic behaviour.

He frowned, “do I not usually kiss my wife unless something has happened?”

Daenerys smiled, lifting her hand from his arm and letting her fingers comb through his unruly hair. She brought his head lower, closer to hers as she craned her neck to look at him, “you do, but just not here, not like _that_ ,” she said against his lips.

Daenerys felt a twinge of annoyance as Jon lifted his head, his lips leaving hers, “like how?” she searched his face, expecting to spot a sign of a mischief on his face but there was none.

Then it occurred to her that he did, and he had, kissed her like this before. But it was when they were still travelling with the Dothraki; when he had been uncharacteristically un-shy about his display of passion and raw lust for her. In their tent, he took her like a Dothraki but the roughness that usually accompanied it was tempered by a gentleness that was innately Jon. Naively, she had thought his passionate need for her had stemmed from watching the horselords take women openly in front of them. But it was apparently not merely so. Their time with the Dothraki changed him.

Jon was still looking at her, confused. Daenerys smiled, gently fisted her hand that was in his hair and she pulled him down to her again, “like _this_ ,”

Daenerys kissed him, fiercely and deeply. At first, he froze, evidently surprised but eventually, he was kissing her, equal parts with a tenderness that could only be love and with a passion. He turned her around in his arms quickly so she was facing him and pressed her close to him. His scarred right hand was caressing her bare back with a gentleness that made her skin prickle as his left held her face gently.

“Daenerys,” he whispered, his forehead on hers, “you won’t be alone, I won’t allow it,”

A furrow of confusion formed between her brows.

Then he opened his eyes and looked into hers as he told her, “I would rule with you-“

Then a scream ripped through the sweet silence of the morning.

She jumped, feeling Jon startle as well but he held her firmly to him nonetheless, his body curling around hers, protecting her from the unknown danger.

Daenerys felt her eyes widened she saw her sweet boy thrashing amongst the sheets. She stepped away from Jon’s arms and ran to him, Jon close behind her. She sat on the bed, reaching for Jaehaerys amongst his flailing limbs. Jon came up beside her and caught Jaehaerys’ hand firmly in his own as said hand flew at Daenerys.

“Careful,” Jon muttered as he held Jaehaerys’ hands firmly with his.

Daenerys leaned over her son, her brows furrowed. Sweat beaded on his face and his nightwear stuck to his body, “Jaehaerys, wake up,” Daenerys shook him by his shoulder but Jaehaerys did not. He let loose another scream. Daenerys then reached forward and took him from the bed and into her lap, hugging his thrashing body against her own firmly, “Jaehaerys!”

Jon leaned forward, holding Jaehaerys’ face in his hands, “Jaehaerys, wake up!” he gently but firmly patted his cheek.

Then the thrashing stopped. Daenerys paused before she dared to loosen her hold on him and look down to see his grey eyes wide open and staring fearfully at nothing in particular.

“Jaehaerys?” she brushed aside silver locks that stuck to his clammy forehead, “what’s the matter?”

Jaehaerys seemed to not have noticed her for a moment then when he did, he cried, “ _Muña_!” he threw his arms around her neck, his legs wrapped around her as much as he could manage. She met Jon’s eyes over their son’s shoulder as he stroked Jaehaerys’ back gently. They both did not know what this could be.

“What happened, Jaehaerys?” Jon coaxed.

Jaehaerys sniffed as he withdrew to look at his father, fear palpable in his eyes.

Jon ducked his head and looked into his son’s eyes, “be brave, Jaehaerys. Tell Mother and Father what happened?”

Jaehaerys nodded, “there were dragons,” he said softly.

Daenerys felt her breath hitch unpleasantly in her throat.

“What about them Jaehaerys?” Jon asked gently.

Jaehaerys sniffed and reached for his Father. Jon met her eyes over their son and Daenerys closed her eyes in agreement, shifting Jaehaerys to his Father’s lap. Jon gently cradled Jaehaerys against his broad chest before he dared to say, “they were scary... they burned everyone,”

Daenerys blinked and leaned forward, “Jaehaerys, the dragons would never hurt anyone unless they hurt us,”

Jaehaerys shook his head, “the people were not hurting us. They were just running away. I could not run…” his eyes welled up with tears and Daenerys felt as if a piece of her heart was torn.

She gently placed a hand to cup the curve of his flushed cheek, her fingers barely touching his heated skin, “you do not ever have to run from dragons, Jaehaerys-“

“No!” Jaehaerys objected fiercely but he was terrified, she could see it in his eyes, “they are bad!”

“Jaehaerys!” Daenerys said sharply but instantly regretted it when Jaehaerys flinched. Then she felt Jon’s hand on hers, which fisted the sheets. She met his eyes and he shook his head. Daenerys pressed her lips together then, withdrawing her hand from Jaehaerys.

Jon placed the crook of his index finger under Jaehaerys’ chin and guided him to look up, “why do you say the dragons are bad?”

“They were killing,” Jaehaerys sniffed.

Jon paused and he seemed ponder before he spoke, “Sometimes, people have to be killed because they would hurt us, Jaehaerys. To protect the ones we love, just as your Mother and I love you, sometimes, we don’t have a choice but to kill, as much as we are unwilling to,”

Jaehaerys bit his lips, “Can you make it stop, Father?” Jaehaerys took Jon’s large hand in his, “no more killing, no more fighting,” his voice wavered as he buried his small face into Jon’s chest.

Jon sighed, wrapping his arms around his son, “we are trying, Jaehaerys, to stop the killing, to stop the fighting,”

Daenerys felt a lump form in her throat. _Are we?_

“Promise?” Jaehaerys looked up at Jon. Jon nodded with a small smile before he leant forward and kissed Jaehaerys’ forehead, deliberately tickling the Prince’s face with his beard. Jaehaerys giggled loudly. Then he turned to Daenerys, “Promise?”

As she looked into his wide hopeful grey eyes, the ones she loved and will always love. She knew she could not refuse him but she could not look into those eyes and lie; she would not. She shifted forward, closer to him as she cupped his cheek gently, “I would do anything, Jaehaerys, to protect you. You are the blood of the dragon, you have nothing to fear from dragons,”

“But I don’t want to be a dragon,” Jaehaerys replied, tears welling up in his eyes again, “I don’t want to kill,”

Daenerys felt her hand dropped from his face and her eyes fell, at lost for how to comfort him, to make him understand something a young child his age should never have to learn.

“You _are_ a dragon, Jaehaerys, you have their blood. Nothing will ever change that. But you can be a good dragon; you can protect others,” Jon said softly.

Jaehaerys looked up at him, “can a dragon really be good?”

Daenerys felt her jaw stiffen at his words; the same words she wondered herself.

“Yes, they can be. Just as wolves, stags and lions can be bad,” she heard Jon tell their son gently. She looked up to see Jon looking at her, “it’s a choice we all make,”

Daenerys dropped her gaze to look at their son. Then she gently took Jaehaerys’ hand in hers, “I promise you this, Jaehaerys,” he looked at her, curious, “I will choose to be good, every time I get to choose,” her throat constricted and she almost choked over the last words as she spoke but Jaehaerys seemed to have not noticed.

“Then I promise I will always choose to be good too,” Jaehaerys smiled. Jon nodded when Jaehaerys looked up at him.

Then Jon called the wet nurse and Jaehaerys was brought for his bath. As the wet nurse left the room, something occurred to her. She turned to Jon abruptly, “I snapped at Jaehaerys,” 

She looked at him incredulously as he chuckled. Then Jon said, “he would not remember by midday,”

Daenerys nodded absently, doubtfully and turned away. She could feel Jon’s eyes on her but she could not bring herself to return his gaze. Instead, she said softly, “sometimes…I would dream of the past. Or even the future but those are rare.” At the corner of her eye, she could see Jon approaching her. She looked up to see him frowning, “Jaehaerys could be able to do that as well,” she told him.

“You think his nightmare is not from his fear from his disastrous ride on Drogon but something that really happened?” Jon asked. She nodded stiffly, once. Jon took her clasped hands in his, gently coaxing her to unclasped them. She had not even realise she had clasped them in front of her; behaving every inch a Queen. Jon took one hand in each of his firmly, “you think he saw you atop Drogon burning the Dothraki?”

“I did burn them,” Daenerys said, her voice cold.

Jon ducked his head to look into her eyes, “It wasn’t you Jaehaerys feared,” he pointed out.

“No,” Daenerys felt her throat constrict at that possibility, “but sometimes, the dreams are symbolic…” Jon furrowed his brows, “ _I_ could be that dragon he saw, burning and killing,”

Jon shook his head slowly but obstinately, his eyes held a firm certainty, “no-”

Something flared up in her, “you don’t know that! You don’t understand,” Daenerys snapped, turning from him and tearing her hands from his. She could feel the familiar fire filling her as she curled her hands into fists by her side, slowly filling her body.

“No, you don’t think I do!” Jon approached her and he told her fiercely. She spun around to face him then. His grey eyes were burning with an anger that he rarely showed.

“Well, how can you know?” she demanded.

He sighed, his frustration evident, “Daenerys I know you-“

“My father was not born mad, the madness had taken my father. It crept up on him and took him. Just like how it took the Targaryens that went mad before him!”

He paused and it was evident he had not known. All he had heard of Aerys II was of his madness. Then as his grey eyes looked into hers, they softened. He took a step towards her so he was standing close to her. Daenerys felt her body tense as he pulled her to him, a hand gently palming the back of her head over her braids and another hand on her back. She was angry but as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hand rubbing her back soothingly, she felt her anger begin to fade, just enough for her to relax against him, “I’m sorry I did not know this. Everything I know of this are from stories, told to me by Old Nan or from the books that I was told to read,” her anger died away then at his words, so honest and said so gently, “but I will listen, Daenerys. If you will talk to me,” she closed her eyes as she pressed her ear to his chest. Then his deep voice reverberated in his chest as he spoke, a vow, “I won’t let it take you. I won’t let anything take you away,” his hand on her back tightened around her and Daenerys felt her own arms tightened around his waist, clutching onto him; hope.

In his arms then, Daenerys realised for the first time in King’s Landing, she felt the warmth of home that she had been seeking. She had seek it as she walked the corridors of Dragonstone and the Red Keep and even Winterfell, hoping to feel an impossible trace of recognition and praying that it would bring the warmth of home she had dreamt the Seven Kingdoms would give her. But she found neither of those things in any of those places. And yet here, as the war against the dead faded into the background to join the rest of the terrible history Man has had, in the quiet of the morning in their bedchambers, with her ear pressed over his beating heart, the feeling of home filled her, warmed her.

“When we first met, you told me that your faith in yourself was what kept you standing all those years in exile. I need you to hold on to that faith, now more than ever. Have faith in your heart, your beautiful, kind and gentle heart. Please,” he whispered fiercely into her ear, his voice thick with emotion.

Daenerys nodded, hesitantly, drawing strength from the sound of his strong beating heart and from his words, spoken in a thick northern tongue. Then she turned to press a kiss over his scar; over his heart. She heard him suck in a sharp breath as her lips touch his skin, “Jon,” she looked up at him, her eyes questioning, “from before, you said…”  

Jon seemed to have not understood what she was getting at before he remembered and smiled, nodding to her, confirming what she asked, “yes, we will rule together, if that is what you want,”

Daenerys smiled, “it is,” her hand finding his. She tangled their fingers together and as she watched their intertwined fingers, how Jon’s large and strong hand clasped hers gently but firmly, she knew he would do as he promised. He would hold onto her and if she were to fall into the darkness, he would pull her back to the surface. If anyone could do it, her stubborn northern fool of a husband, and now King, could. In that moment, she allowed herself to hope that just maybe, she could be good; _they_ would be good. _Together_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who can't stand reading Jaime's POV and thoughts, feel free to skip to Tyrion's part and thereafter

Chapter 15

**_Jaime_ **

The Queen has returned.

He had heard it from the faint conversation between the guards at the door of his cell

For all the time he had spent in the darkness; cold, alone and shivering himself to sleep just to jolt awake before the cold could take him from this world, it was never worse than the seemingly constant constriction in his chest that he could not rid himself of. At first, he had ignored it and thought it to be the fear and unsettling feeling of being alone and in complete darkness for such a long time. But after a while, it started to hurt, so much so he had stopped eating.

Then his brother had visited him. Truthfully, Jaime was nursing an aching stomach, a pounding head, numb limbs on top of that painful constriction in his chest. But he surprised himself when his mouth had moved and his parched throat and cracked tongue had asked about the Queen. Then when Tyrion had finally told him what happened, Jaime truly felt his body, apart from the pain, for the first time.

His heart had sank to the pit of his stomach when Tyrion said she had been shot. His body had rose so suddenly and quickly. Jaime did not think he had the strength in him to do so. But then, Tyrion told him she was recovering and would be alright. Jaime had felt those words straight to his middle, soothing the pain in his chest just enough for him to breathe again.

When Tyrion had left him and Jaime was once again plunged into darkness, his mind clearer now that he knew the Queen was safe, his thoughts were never far from what Tyrion had said.

_She spared your life. Surely that counts for something that you can repay by giving her the reason she wants so badly just to let you live and stay by her side as her Queensguard._

At that thought, he began to eat whatever scraps and morsel the guards saw fit to give him. He drank deeply from the small cup left for him; the water smelled foul but Jaime did not care. He needed to survive. He would see her and talk with her yet. And when he does, he would go on his knees and tell her how very sorry he was; not for protecting her. But for not realising she was showing him mercy in that throne room, for not seeing her hope, behind her stern words and the mask of a Queen, for him to show remorse. All so she could keep him by her side.

The thought of the Queen _wanting_ him here chased away the ache in his bones, the pain in his chest and even the cold of the dark cell.

The door creaked open and Jaime stiffened, his back hunched; uncomfortable against the rough stone wall that jutted into his spine. He squinted as two guards, one holding a bright torch that blinded him, approached. Jaime felt a hand on his arm and instinctively jerked away from the hold.

“Hey!” the guard snapped, grabbing him around his arm as the other released the chains around his wrist that kept him sitting on the floor.

“Where are you taking me?” Jaime growled, trying but failing to shove away the guard.

“Shut up and come along,” the guard growled, his grip painfully firm over his arm. Then the other guard came to his other side and grabbed him around the other arm. Together, they all but dragged him from the cell. Jaime knew he was too weak to resist when even if he dug his heels into the ground, they merely carried on walking as if he had barely resisted. So he limped along, struggling to keep pace. His legs were soft and weak and his lower back was aching badly but he stumbled along all the same.

They dragged him up from the dark cells and out of the dungeons altogether. When the sun shone over them, Jaime winced, instinctively shying away from the sunlight but the guards yanked him forward all the same. His eyes was burning from the light and Jaime was still blinded as they walked; turning left then right then a long corridor then left. They stopped and Jaime blinked hard, glimpsing the black ornate doors of the throne room. He felt a lump form in his throat as the door was pushed open.

Jaime looked up, squinting against the light in the throne room. He could see the blur outline of the iron throne against the light that shone in through the glass behind it but that was all. He was dragged quickly through the throne room then unceremoniously thrown to his knees. Jaime winced as he fell heavily. The throne room was quiet and it was the first thing he noticed, apart from the cold and heavy chains he still had around his ankles and his wrists.

“Remove his chains,”

Jaime looked up at that voice, blinking away the blurry vision. Then he saw her, sitting stiffly on the throne. She was in a white dress, her silver hair braided back from her face but the rest of it was left to tumble over her back. On top of her head was a delicate gold and silver crown. It was wrought into the shape of three dragons, two silver and one gold, their long bodies entwined as they went around her head. The eyes of the dragon were bright red rubies but in the centre where the head of the three dragons met, was a white grey jewel; for the Starks, for the King.

Jaime was mildly aware of the guards unlocking his chains. He flexed his wrists as he looked at her.

“My Queen,” still on his knees where he was thrown, he bowed low, his face almost touching the floor.

“Rise,” her voice was even, almost cold. Jaime pushed himself off the floor on shaking arms, “are you now remorseful for what you have done, Ser Jaime? Tell me truthfully,”

He drew his body to full height, opting to stay on his knees. He glimpsed his brother at the foot of the throne, watching him intently.

_Show remorse or you will never see the Queen you love again._

“I am, my Queen,” Jaime hated the way his voice croaked as he forced the words to his lips.

The Queen watched him, studying him the way she did when she first saw him and it stung him to see her looking at him as if he was a stranger to her. And she probably felt he was, after what he did. If what Tyrion said to him about how the Queen felt about treason and betrayal was true, Jaime had crossed a line and he regretted it deeply. She would now think less of him and what they had together, the purest and rightest thing Jaime had in his life, was now marred.

 _For you will be dead and you would not be there to advise her or protect her._ Tyrion’s words came to him and Jaime blinked. He swallowed, unable to get rid of the lump in his throat but he spoke nevertheless, “I am sorry for what I did, for commanding the Unsullied without leave from my Queen; when it is not in my right or authority,”

The Queen inclined her chin at his words and Jaime held his breath as she considered him, her lilac eyes piercing but unreadable, “Ser Jaime Lannister, you are hereby pardoned from death for your crime against the crown. But if you betray me again, I _will_ burn you alive,” Jaime stiffened visibly at that, his heart pounding, “You may rise,”

He glanced at his brother to see his brother looking relieved as well and proud. Tyrion nodded and Jaime returned it. Then he shakily got to his feet, stumbling just slightly before he regained his footing and straightened himself.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, you are hereby removed from the Queensguard and I command you to go to Casterly Rock as Castellan,”

Jaime balked in surprise and turned to Tyrion. His brother was no longer looking at him.  

“You will command the Lannister army and come to the Crown’s aid should the need arise,” the Queen said.

Jaime blinked, “My Queen-“

“You will attend the tourney and then you depart for Casterly Rock,” she said, “that will be all,” a command and finality in her voice.

He looked at her as she stared at him, her eyes empty. _Is this the price of treason; of his impulsiveness and his stupidity?_

Then Jaime realised he would not expect anything less from the Dragon Queen. Forgiveness was not to be given easily by any good ruler, it would only encourage disobedience from others, knowing they would be forgiven.

But Jaime had to know, “is that what you wish?” he asked.

“It is,”

He inclined his chin then, straightening himself from a seemingly permanent hunch, “I swore you an oath, I swore you my sword and I swore to obey you,” Jaime said and the Queen tensed visibly, expecting resistance. At her side, his brother shot him a meaningful look, to will him to obey. Jaime’s eyes looked straight at the Queen, “and I will,” he said quietly. Then he bowed and limped out of the throne room.

 

**_Tyrion_ **

Tyrion imagined a handful of scenarios as he walked to the throne room beside the Queen for his brother’s trial. But none of those he imagined was what happened. Jaime had obeyed. Growing up, things were never easy with Jaime. He was never serious enough, too impulsive, too cocky or not smart enough. But this time, it was easy. Tyrion watched as Jaime walked out the throne room unsteadily.

_Tyrion had come to the King and Queen to talk about Jaime. When he entered, the King was wearing his kingly garbs that he had fought tooth and nail again wearing when Tyrion had insisted he looked the part and not look merely like a Stark of Winterfell._

_The Queen was standing beside him, beautiful as ever and there was a newly wrought crown on her head, “what is it?” the Queen asked. She was adjusting the King’s tunic. The King gazed at her intently, his grey eyes dark, almost black. As she smoothened down the fabric over his chest, she glanced up at him and held his gaze. She smiled at him and the King returned it, all traces of the brooding visage gone._

_Tyrion shifted from one foot to another and cleared his throat before speaking, “I want to speak to you about Jaime, your Grace,” Tyrion started, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground._

_The Queen glanced at him as her hands on the King’s chest dropped to her sides and she turned to Tyrion, “if you are going to speak in defence of your brother, you can save your breath,”_

_Tyrion raised his hands, “I am not. I am merely here to inform you that Jaime is now remorseful for what he had done,” The Queen stared at him, “and I know that even if he is, his actions are not, and should not be, without consequence…”_

_The Queen replied, “no, they are not indeed,”_

_Tyrion raised his brows, “so…if you’re not going to kill him and you’re not going to simply forgive him…”_

_“He will be sent to the wall to live out the rest of his days. They could use a man like him,” the Queen said and Tyrion felt the blood drain from his face, “he will be an example for all who would think to disobey the Crown,”_

_“Your Grace, my brother is more useful to you here than at the Wall-“_

_The Queen turned to him, her eyes blazing, “I listened to you at Winterfell and he was useful to me in_ that _War and he was but there no longer is a war,” Tyrion blinked, surprised with the harshness in her voice. And there was a coldness as well._

_“Jaime was trying to protect you. The sentence is too harsh, Your Grace-“_

_“He commanded my army in my name without my leave to do so. Too harsh? I think not,” she seethed._

_Tyrion looked down, feeling his stomach sink._

_“My Queen,” Jon spoke, “Lord Tyrion is right,” Tyrion was grateful but he knew the Queen’s mind was set and would not be changed, by neither the Hand nor the King Consort._

_The Queen turned to look at him, a strange look in her eyes. She was evidently listening._

_“I know this is your decision to make, he is your Queensguard and it is you he betrayed. But the Lord Hand is currently Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West but he is here,” The King said, “let Jaime Lannister be acting Lord of Casterly Rock, a castellan. He has sworn himself to you and he is loyal to you; what he did was to serve and protect you. Keeping him at Casterly Rock, what harm could he do to us from there and aid could be provided to the Crown swiftly when the need arises,”_

_Tyrion held his breath as he watched the Queen. She replied, “we cannot simply forgive this,” we?_

_“We’re not,” Jon replied, “he would be expelled from the Queensguard, a sworn brotherhood. That would be punishment enough for any knight,”_

_The Queen paused, contemplating it. She eventually nodded slowly in agreement, “it shall be as the King commands,”_

_Tyrion hesitated, in disbelief as he looked at the Queen and the King, “King? Not King Consort?”_

_“Jon would be King, no longer King Consort,” the Queen said, looking to the King with a smile, her eyes soft and Tyrion saw a ghost of a smile cross the King’s brooding visage._

The King entered the throne room, his entourage of Kingsguards behind him. The King had went to see the Prince, a wordless agreement with the Queen that she would sentence Jaime Lannister herself. Atop the King’s head was his crown he had worn for 4 years. The thing was thicker than that of the Queen’s but of a similar make, with 3 dragons that converged over a white grey jewel.

The Queen rose from the throne, going to the King, “how is he?”

The King’s lips curved up at the edge slightly as he spoke of the Prince, “he’s alright. He’s at his riding lesson now. He made me promise to teach him sword fighting later,”

“Sword fighting?” the Queen raised a brow, surprised.

“With wooden swords,” the King replied. Then they turned to the throne. A look of agreement and a nod before the King sat in the throne, a Queen settling in the chair beside the throne.

Tyrion stood a step lower beside the Queen. He watched as the Kingsguards and 2 of the Queen’s Dothraki Queenguards stood with their backs to the throne, their hand on his sword and arakhs. Along the side of the throne room, 3 Unsullied stood at attention on each side.

Then one by one, the common people were brought in; those who seek an audience with the King and Queen. There were many. Some merely bearing gifts for the Queen who has returned, some seeking to have their grievances addressed. The King and Queen answered each and every one of them, respectful even of the poorest and polite to those wealthier merchants who presented their exotic wares to the Queen as a gift. Tyrion did not miss the look that passed between them every time an issue was brought up and from there, a mutual understanding would be reached about who would speak.

They perfectly complemented the other as Tyrion and Varys had thought but Tyrion did not miss the way the King stiffened on the throne as Daenerys ordered for the head of the man who raped the daughter of the man before them. A look passed between Tyrion and Varys, who stood on the side of the throne room, ever observing. No matter how they complemented the other, there are bound to be disagreements sometimes and also probably because of how they complemented the other, tempering what was too much and adding what was missing in the other. Tyrion already knew he was not looking forward to the next small council meeting.

By the time the last peasant left the throne room, bowing profusely to the King and Queen, Tyrion’s legs were cramping and the King and Queen had shifted in their seats far too often as they listened to the last peasant speak his grievances. That peasant had been unfairly paid for the crops he sold to the merchants in the markets. The King had compensated the peasant for what he lost and assured him that the small council will discuss the matter and pass laws regarding fair payment.

The King rose, stretching his back. The Queen looked to him, smiling and when their eyes met, the King returned it. Tyrion did not miss that smiles now came easily to their brooding King than it ever had in the past four years of his reign. Approaching the Queen, the King offered her a hand and she took it, rising from the chair.

“Your Graces, we have received word that later in the day, the Starks and Baratheon would be arriving for the Tourney,” Tyrion said.

The King’s small smile widened and his grey eyes lit up, “we will ride out to receive them,” he turned to the Queen who nodded her agreement. Then the King and Queen left the throne room, their large entourage of guards behind them.

“So the King and Queen will rule together,”

Tyrion turned to Varys, nodding, “but it won’t be easy,”

Varys shrugged, “I never said it would be. I only said it would be best if they did rule together,” Tyrion nodded, as he looked at the vacant throne and ornate chair beside it, “the Martells do not intend to bend the knee to our Queen,”

Tyrion turned to him, “something your little birds heard?”

Varys nodded, “it is not difficult to find out. Arianne Martell appears to be someone who does not hide what she wants,”

“And what does she want?”

“Not kneeling,” Varys said, looking meaningfully at Tyrion.

Tyrion frowned, then it dawned on him, “she can’t mean for marriage, the King and Queen would never take another. They are completed devoted to each other,”

“And the Martells have heard and they have also heard the Crown Prince is the very image of a Targaryen, with the blood of Old Valyria. And he has not yet been promised to anyone,” Varys said.

“It makes no matter. The King would never allow it. He has said it before-“ Tyrion caught himself as he stared at the two ‘thrones’ that looked to be a permanent fixture in the throne room from now on, “but the Queen might,”

“Yes, the Queen plays the game, the King doesn’t,” Varys said.

“Who does Arianne Martell have in mind to be the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” Tyrion frowned, knowing she was not married and could not recall any notable cousins of close enough relations to the Martells.

“One of her bastard daughters, Myriah Sand,”

Tyrion snorted, “they want Prince Jaehaerys to marry a bastard? Even if the King and Queen were agreeable, it would be a slight to the Nobles houses who have offered their trueborn daughters for the Prince. It would be a disaster.”

“Unfortunately, I do not think Arianne Martell is inclined to care,”

 

**_Daenerys_ **

They were walking to the training yard, shoulder to shoulder. She was aware that instead of frightened bows or handmaidens and page boys dropping to their knees, she was now receiving respectful bows. Daenerys was beginning to feel some tension leave her when they rounded the corner, hearing the ruckus in the yard, swords meeting, horses whinnying, men shouting.

They both stopped then. In the middle of the yard, beside the stables, they could see Jaehaerys. He was atop a black pony, seated comfortably in the saddle. Then he spurred the pony forward and the pony galloped as quickly as it could. Daenerys watched, smiling as the pony leaped over a small log of wood and Jaehaerys cheered, turning the pony around and stopping before Aggo.

Daenerys clapped and the men in the yard turned, bowing to their King and Queen but she was looking at Jaehaerys. The Prince turned at the sound and Daenerys felt a wave of relief fill her as her son’s little face lit up, not a sign that he had remembered how harshly she had spoken to him early today, “ _Muña_!” Daenerys watched with her heart in her mouth as Jaehaerys dismounted hastily and a little clumsily but managed. He ran to them, “Father,” he greeted properly before throwing his arms around Daenerys, burrowing his face into her dress.

“You ride well, Jaehaerys,” Daenerys said to him and Jaehaerys drew back, looking up at her and beamed, “do you enjoy riding?”

“Yes!” Jaehaerys replied, a wide grin on his face. Daenerys smiled as she brought her hand over his face, wiping away traces of dirt from his rosy cheeks. His silver hair was windswept and plastered to his face in perspiration, “I will ride a real horse one day!”

“Aye, you will,” Jon said.

“Father, will you train with me today?” Jaehaerys turned to his father, his face eager and Daenerys knew Jon did not train often with Jaehaerys, knowing Ser Jorah or Ser Jaime was charged with teaching him. Being King took up most of Jon’s time in the day and whatever time he had left, it was night and hardly an appropriate time for the Prince to still be training.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Jon smiled and he removed his crown, handing it to his squire behind him.

“Will you teach me to use Longclaw?” Jaehaerys’ excitement had reached a screeching pitch and the Prince was practically bouncing with anticipation.

Jon laughed, “Longclaw’s taller than you are, Jaehaerys,” Jaehaerys’ smiled faded and he pouted at his father but that made Jon laugh harder, placing a hand on his son’s head, “maybe when you’re older. And maybe then, _you_ will wield Longclaw,” that brought a smile back to Jaehaerys’ face.

Jon removed his belt that held said sword and he handed it to his squire as well, “let’s go already, Father!” Jaehaerys slipped his hand into Jon’s and made to dash to the training yard where the training swords stood. Jon smiled, walking over but paused, turning back to look at her.

She nodded with a smile and Jon returned the smile before they walked to the training yard, Jaehaerys struggling to tow his father to walk faster.

“Khaleesi,” Daenerys turned from watching Jaehaerys and Jon pick out their training swords. Jaehaerys had reached for the blunt steel ones but Jon had handed him a wooden one instead. Aggo approached her and he bowed. She nodded, “Khalakka azho. me dothrakh chekosshi ma vezhven lajak (the Prince has a gift, he rides excellently and will be a great warrior),”

“me eth hajinaan me Khal arrek, Qoy qoyi (he have to be for he will be King, blood of my blood),” Daenerys replied.

Aggo nodded and she smiled at him, turning to see Jon and Jaehaerys circling each other, a wooden sword in one hand and a wooden shield in the other. She smiled as Jaehaerys lunged his sword forward, meeting Jon’s quickly raised shield. Then Jon swung his sword around but Jaehaerys saw and leapt aside, Jon’s sword missing him. Jaehaerys was fast and had an eye for openings in sword fighting, taking his time and placing his strikes rather than charging into it, but that was not so important to Daenerys, not more than the smile on his face.

She watched Jon and Jaehaerys exchange a few more strikes and Jon had landed more than a number on Jaehaerys. Jon struck Jaehaerys so Jaehaerys could feel the pain from Jon’s sword but Daenerys could tell Jon was extremely careful, never striking too hard. And once, Jaehaerys managed to land a hit on Jon’s shoulder. Jon spoke as they fought, giving pointers while Jaehaerys listened, all the while watching his father’s movement and slowly copying them, learning.

Jon was a greater fighter; his movement with a sword always fluid, quick and he was light on his feet. But Daenerys always knew that, she had heard and seen as much. Even when he was nursing a burned torso, he fought and emerged triumphant over the Dothraki horselord who had challenged her. He had good instincts for a fighter. But Jon did not enjoy fighting, reminding Daenerys of what Ser Barristan, and later Ser Jaime, had said about Jon’s father; her brother. She smiled when Jaehaerys lunged forward and Jon side stepped lithely and rapped Jaehaerys on his exposed side, hard, “keep your shield up, Jaehaerys!” Jon snapped. Jaehaerys, with no sign of fear or pain in his eyes, glared at him but did as he was told, bringing his shield up.

“Your Grace,” Daenerys did not recognise the feminine voice, with a hint of a foreign accent. She turned curiously just as the Kingsguards and her Dothraki bloodriders drew their blade and positioned themselves between her and the approaching woman.

The first thing Daenerys noticed of this woman was her striking exotic beauty. That and her full bosoms which threatened to spill from the bodice that dipped low over her cleavage. It left her slim waist bare. She was wearing riding leather pants and boots, _a fighter_. Daenerys noted. Over it all, she wore a thin overcoat and that covered her arms and shoulders. Under it, she glimpsed a belt around her hip. She could see a dagger hanging from her belt. The approaching woman stopped short as the Kingsguard and Dothraki bristled, their bared steel raised. The woman eyed the guards and their weapons before her eyes settled on Daenerys once more.

Daenerys spoke politely then, looking into the woman’s large dark eyes, “Lady Arianne Martell, welcome to King’s Landing. My apologies for my not being here on your arrival,”

Arianne Martell’s smile, more of a disarming smirk, spreaded over her face. Beside her were two Dornish men, draped in yellow, swords at their hip but they made no move to step in front of their Lady as she stood up against the bare steel of the Kingsguards, “may I approach, my Queen?” she bowed, almost patronising.

Daenerys watched her a moment longer. Arianne Martell had noticed the blades but seemed to not be bothered by them and the lack of protectiveness of her guards was telling of her abilities to defend herself, “you may approach,” Daenerys said to her. The Kingsguards sheathed their swords and stepped back, “nakho, ifat irge (stop, step back),” Arianne Martell’s eyes seemed to light up with curiosity as she heard Daenerys speak Dothraki.

Qhono turned to her, “Huh? Khaleesi, jinak chiori melat, me izat (my Queen, this woman is evil, she is poisonous),” his arakh still raised.

Kovarro nodded, “me achrakh mae (she stinks of it),” 

She knew. Daenerys had heard all about the reputation of the Martells. _Vipers._ Daenerys glanced at Arianne Martell. _But a Queen will receive her guests_ , “mae kishi nevak, ifat irge ajjin (she is our guest. Step back now),”

Qhono and Kovarro stared at her for a moment longer before looking to each other, “ai, Qoy qoyi, (yes, blood of my blood),” they both said and stepped back to stand just behind her, in front of the Kingsguard. Their arakhs still out and Daenerys was quietly thankful for the caution of her blood riders. She knew Arianne Martell was an attractive woman, one look at her and anyone who could see would think so, but the way she carried herself told Daenerys that she was not a simple highborn lady.

“Your Dothraki are very impressive,” Arianne Martell said as she approached, still eyeing blood riders behind her.

“That’s kind of you to say,”

Her eyes wandered up and down her bloodriders appreciatively, “they look like they would fight as hard and well as they would fuck,”

Daenerys regarded Lady Martell. She did not mince her words and no matter how crude they were, Daenerys could not help but feel amused instead of offended. Truthfully, after her time with the Dothraki and in the free cities, where sex was celebrated and not hidden, Daenerys felt she had no delicate sensibilities left to be offended by mention of it. In fact, Arianne Martell’s candour was refreshing, “they do,” Daenerys replied simply.  

Lady Martell raised her brows at Daenerys’ admission, no doubt surprised the Queen had not been thrown off nor gave the slightest hint of a blush at her words. Then her face relaxed in realisation, “apologies, it slipped my mind, you married one,” Daenerys tensed then. There was something about her tone that told her this was not merely a friendly realisation; more of a reminder, a mockery almost, “Are they as passionate as they say as they fuck-“

“Khaleesi, anha laz fichat mae lekh ezzolat (My Queen, I can take her tongue to teach her respect),” Qhono said. In his time in King’s Landing, Daenerys had no doubt her Dothraki are now able to pick up a few choice words spoken in the common tongue. Qhono made to step forward, his dark eyes glaring at Lady Martell, his arakh sharp by his side. Daenerys’ eyes stayed on Arianne Martell to see her look at Qhono approaching her and when she realised the Queen would do seemingly nothing to stop him, her hand flew to the dagger by her side. There was no fear in her eyes. _She did not merely wield a weapon, she was good._

Daenerys raised a hand to stop Qhono then, “surely you are not here to merely discuss my Dothraki,”

“I heard you took them back, only to send them back to Essos,” Lady Martell said.

Daenerys stared at her.

Unperturbed by the lack of a reply, Lady Martell continued, shrugging, “you could have send them to Dorne, to serve me,”

“They would never serve another. They only follow the strong. If you want them to follow you, you would have to earn it, in battle, Lady Martell,” Daenerys replied, her voice even.

Arianne Martell’s eyes darted up to hers fiercely at her words, “and Dorne will,” then she seemed to remember herself and looked away, saying, “in Dorne, we do not have Lords and Ladies. Only Princes and Princesses,”

Daenerys looked at her, “it is unfortunate, Lady Martell, but we are not in Dorne,” Arianne Martell glowered.

“My Queen?” Daenerys turned to see Jon approaching, Jaehaerys’ hand in his. Behind them, two of the Prince’s Kingsguards followed. Jon was wearing his belt with Longclaw at his hip again and on his head, he wore the crown.

She nodded to Jon, “ _Muña_ ,” Jaehaerys let go of his father’s hand, approaching his mother but his eyes darted to Lady Martell cautiously. Daenerys opened her arm for him and he pressed himself against her side, taking her hand, “ _qilōni iksis bisa?_ (who is this?)”

“ _issa zentyssy īlva, Jaehaerys_ , (she is our guest, Jaehaerys)” Daenerys placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Jaehaerys turned to Lady Martell and stepped forward, away from his mother, “it is a pleasure to meet you, my Lady,” Jaehaerys nodded to her respectfully.

Lady Martell’s face lit up in a beautiful smile and she lowered herself before the Prince, “it is a pleasure to meet you too, Prince Jaehaerys,”

Jaehaerys nodded, a small smile and he turned, standing beside his mother. Arianne Martell rose then, looking at the King.

Jon nodded stiffly, “my Lady,”

“My King,” Arianne Martell bowed and when she straightened, there was a twinkle in her dark eyes and Daenerys watched her eyes dart over the King meaningfully as they had with her bloodriders before.

“Lady Martell, I am sure you have more urgent matters to speak of than of my Dothraki or formalities,” Daenerys said, “perhaps we can convene this meeting in the royal chancery,”

Lady Martell’s eyes lingered over the King before they turned to her, “yes, I would speak to the reigning monarch-“

“The King and Queen both rule,” Daenerys glanced behind the Lady to see Tyrion approaching from the direction of the throne room, “My Lady,” Tyrion bowed slightly at the waist.

Lady Martell nodded to him in acknowledgment, “Lord Tyrion,” she then turned to the King and Queen, “as equals? That is unheard of in all Westerosi history, a first,” she frowned.

“Perhaps that would not be the only ‘first’ in history during our reign,” Daenerys replied simply, holding her gaze. _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken_. Even when _Fire and Blood_ came to their doors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments last chapter, I have read them all and they really motivated me to write. Already in the midst of writing the next chapter and no surprises there but it would continue from where this chapter left off and... finally... STARKS :)


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

**_Daenerys_ **

Jon caught her eye and held her gaze for a moment. _They would have to tread carefully with Arianne Martell._ She nodded to him and he turned to Lady Martell, “this way my Lady,” he gestured. Lady Martell nodded and they began walking.

Daenerys crouched, looking Jaehaerys in the eye, “I need you to go to your chambers, Jaehaerys,” his little face fell, disappointed as he realised he was being sent away.

“I want to come with you and Father,” Jaehaerys whined, he held her hand between both of his and tugged, “I haven’t talked to you all of today,” Daenerys smiled. He had grown used to telling her all that had happened to him in the day and her waking up had done nothing to change that for him, apparently.

“We can talk after. I have to be with our guest now,” Daenerys said gently, bringing her free hand up to smooth the hair on the side of his head. Jaehaerys pouted but said no more, “be good,” she leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head as she straightened, “bring the Prince back to his chambers,” the Kingsguard nodded stiffly and she watched as Jaehaerys went, his head of silver bowed and his feet dragging along.

Daenerys then turned and began walking, noticing that 2 of the Kingsguards were with her, behind two of her blood riders. As she fell into step beside Jon, he glanced at her, his eyes holding a question. _Jaehaerys?_ And she nodded assuredly. He gave her a slight almost-smile, just a curl on the edge of his lips.

Then they entered the royal chancery and traditionally, also the work area of the reigning Monarch.

Arianne Martell then waved away her Dornish guards so they stayed at the door. At a glance from Jon, the Kingsguards stayed outside as well but the Dothraki blood riders, close on their heel, entered with them, closing the door behind them and standing with their backs to the door.

“Forgive my blood riders, they are a little protective,” Daenerys said and Lady Martell nodded but she did not miss the way her eyes had darted to the Dothraki and to the arakhs they held in their hands before them.

“Lady Martell, we assume you are here to swear allegiance to the Crown,” Jon said.

Arianne Martell turned to him, staring, “I am here to discuss an _alliance_ with the Crown and Dorne do not bend to threats, My King, My Queen,” she said, referring to the missive no doubt.

“And we all know what happens to things that don’t bend,” Daenerys drawled and Arianne Martell bristled.

Jon glanced to Daenerys, “but we will hear your proposal for an alliance,”

Arianne Martell glared at Daenerys a moment longer, Daenerys meeting her glare with a blank stare. Then the Lady of Sunspear turned to the King, “we all know what the best way is to forge alliances,” she looked between the King and the Queen meaningfully.

Tyrion piped in, “not as well as House Martell,”

She shot Tyrion a sharp look, not appreciating his mockery at the Martell’s history of marrying one of their own to Targaryens, before turning to the King and Queen, “I would propose alliance by marriage. The betrothal of the Crown Prince to one of Dorne’s; my own daughter, a child of five. Princess Myriah, a beauty already,”

Silence fell upon the room.

“You are unmarried,” Jon spoke then.

Arianne Martell’s eyes narrowed at him, “I would think that would bother all others but you, your Grace,”

Daenerys could see Jon’s shoulders tense under his tunic.

“Prince Jaehaerys is the Crown Prince,” Daenerys said.

“And my Myriah is the Princess of Dorne,” Arianne Martell replied, “If a bastard name is all that stops this, legitimise my daughter. Let her be Myriah Martell and as my ancestor Myriah Martell have wedded King Daeron II, she will wed Prince Jaehaerys. And it will be the joining of two great houses and six kingdoms will become seven once more,”

“I did not invite you here to discuss terms with us,” Daenerys said, her hands clasped before her.

The Lady of Dorne almost glowered then, “no, you want Dorne to bend the knee. _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken_ is House Martell. Why should we bend the knee when we have never and will never be conquered?” her angry words made her tanned neck flush.

Daenerys stared at her, still wearing the impassive mask of a Queen.

Tyrion then spoke, “the children are still young, shall we give it time, at least until the girl is flowered? Then we will speak of this betrothal again,”

Arianne Martell turned to the Hand, “then there is no alliance between Dorne and the Crown, until my Myriah is flowered,”

“Leave us, we will return to you with our terms by the end of the Tourney,” Jon said evenly, “we hope you will enjoy your time in the capital, My Lady,” he turned away.

Arianne Martell watched the King for a moment, then she turned to the Queen and they locked eyes briefly. Then Arianne Martell bowed, turning on her heel and leaving, glancing at the two Dothraki by the door.

When the door closed, Daenerys turned to Tyrion, “did you know of this?”

Tyrion shook his head, “not until Varys told me after court and I was going to the yard to tell you,”

Daenerys pursed his lips, “what do you think of the betrothal?”

Tyrion replied, “it is a fair offer, to secure the alliance of Dorne, assuming Myriah is legitimised. It would be the most peaceful one surely,” and they both knew they were thinking of the possible alternative; a realm divided with the threat of war constantly hanging over their heads, “and we will have to find a way to appease the other Noble Houses who have offered their trueborn daughters to be betrothed to the Prince, and rejected,” Daenerys frowned; she had not known Jaehaerys has had betrothals offered before, much less that it had all been rejected. Something sat uncomfortably in her at the idea of arranging a betrothal for Jaehaerys, her sweet son, but if it was for the peace of the realm, it had to be done.

But then Jon spoke, “no,” he turned.

A pause and Tyrion did not make to reply, as if he had expected this, “why not?” Daenerys turned to him.

Tyrion spoke then, “Your Grace, if we can’t conquer Dorne, marriage would ensure their loyalty for generations,”

“I will not force it on Jaehaerys,” Jon said, “if they are to be betrothed, let the children meet. Let Myriah Sand be fostered here, at King’s Landing. And when Jaehaerys comes of age, he will make the decision himself,”

Daenerys blinked, “Arianne Martell would never leave her daughter here without a promise of a betrothal,”

Jon did not reply.

“Lord Tyrion, leave us,” Daenerys said. Tyrion bowed and left. Daenerys nodded to her blood riders and they left behind Tyrion.

She approached him, “Jon,”

Jon looked at her and there was a fire in his eyes she rarely saw, “I won’t force Jaehaerys to marry for an alliance, Daenerys. Rhaegar Targaryen had an arranged marriage to Elia Martell, a woman he did not love. He ran away with one he loved and thousands died for it. I never want Jaehaerys to have to make that decision and suffer it or die for it, as his grandfather did,” Daenerys paused. This was the first time she could recall Jon openly addressing and acknowledging Rhaegar as his father, “and his death was not enough. Look what resulted from that? 2 of his own children made bastards and then killed and a war. We learn from our history, Daenerys, we do not repeat them-”

“I understand but that is the way it is-“

A flash of anger crossed Jon’s eyes, “isn’t that what we are trying to change? This world? You said you want to build a new world,” Jon scowled, “or are they just words? Empty promises,”

Daenerys flared at that, “this is a separate matter entirely and you know it!”

“Is it?” he snapped. She met his glare with her own and Jon eventually turned away, “regardless, I will _never_ allow the betrothal,”

Daenerys became annoyed, “so will we go to war, your Grace?”  _Is that how much you’re willing to sacrifice to protect Jaehaerys’ happiness? The lives of our people? The lives of thousands of the innocent._ He tensed visibly. She knew he did not need her to tell him what war would mean, he had lived through wars; his brothers died for it.

“We will rule Six Kingdoms and leave Dorne,” he said instead.

“So they can stab us in the back when there is an uprising among the Six Kingdoms, or even start a rebellion themselves?” Daenerys shot back. Jon closed his eyes. His fingers clutched the edge of the table as he hunched over it, “we can’t let Dorne stay an independent country. We can’t change this world if Dorne stays free,”

“We will do it without sacrificing our son.” he said with a hard tone of finality, “I will discuss fostering Myriah here at King’s Landing with Arianne Martell,” Jon said.

She stepped forward to stand beside him, “Jon, Jaehaerys has to understand if he is to be King, he has to make sacrifices and live with it after they have been made,” she said, willing Jon to understand, “not like what my brother did…what Rhaegar chose was wrong.”

Jon was still not looking at her, “I know,” his jaw tensed and he stared ahead, “I have never forgotten that I was born in exchange of the lives of thousands.”

She balked, realising how her words could have been taken by him; and apparently had been. The pain in his voice wrenched at her heart and she reached out gently, “you know that’s not what I meant,” her hand rested on his arm and she took a tentative step closer, “you know I love you; how much I need you. I do not agree with what Rhaegar did and do not think it right, but I do not wish for him to choose otherwise,” she squeezed his arm, “I couldn’t,” she gazed beseechingly at him.

He did not reply and instead he said, “I can’t do this to Jaehaerys. I can’t imagine what it would be like for him to come of age to marry a woman he does not love,” he looked at her then, a torn look in his eyes. He stepped towards her, his hand coming to her cheek, “only to meet the one he loves, knowing he can’t ever have her; I won’t put our son in that position,” 

“Jon,” she took his hand from her face, clutching his hand in hers, “if we don’t, thousands will die, now. If and when Dorne decides we are not fit to rule or when they want the throne for themselves. We cannot break the wheel if Dorne remains free,” 

Anger and frustration flashed in his eyes and he turned away abruptly, tearing his hand from hers. She closed her eyes.

Tentatively, she stepped up behind him when he still did not speak. Slowly, she snaked her arms around his torso, almost afraid he would flee from her but he does not and Daenerys pressed the side of her face to his broad back, her arms tightening around his waist. The muscles on his back tensed.

“I love Jaehaerys and I want him to be happy, always. I want him to grow up to meet someone he loves and when he does, I want him to be able to marry her. I want him to know what it is like to have what we have,” she felt Jon’s hands rest atop her arms gently, “but we cannot protect Jaehaerys in this, Jon; not when we risk sacrificing the lives of the innocent,”

“Jaehaerys _is_ innocent,” Jon whispered.

Daenerys pressed herself closer to him and she said quietly, realising herself, “he never is. He is the son of the King and Queen,”

Jon stayed silent.

“Do you want to tell him or shall I?” Daenerys asked. She then stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.

Jon turned to face her. He placed his hands on her waist, pulling her close, “Daenerys, let me talk to Arianne Martell first,” Jon said, “I have to at least try, for Jaehaerys,” Daenerys seemed to ponder it for a moment before she nodded eventually.

 

**_Lady of Winterfell_ **

She was getting truly tired of the constant rocking of the carriage and it was getting hotter inside her carriage.

They had received the letter from Jon about the Queen’s recovery just a week before receiving the invitation to the Tourney. Arya had been elated to hear about the Queen’s recovery.

Years ago, when they received word from Jon that he was riding to Winterfell with the Dragon Queen, Arya had been excited to meet her, having admired the Visenya Targaryen who had ridden her dragon to conquer Westeros and wielded a valyrian steel sword, ‘Dark Sister’, since she was a little girl. Despite that, when the Queen had arrived at Winterfell, Arya was cautious with her at first, as was Sansa.

But after a while, Arya was quite taken with the Dragon Queen and Sansa was not surprised. The Queen was easy to love. She had an air of nobility about her, owing to her beautiful silver hair and lilac eyes but she never carried herself with an arrogance that Sansa had seen before in the capital, in lesser women. And the Dragon Queen was almost a warrior herself, what Arya had always wanted to be, clad in pants rather than a dress. She was always ready to mount a horse or a dragon, in her case.

After attending some war council with the Queen, Sansa also learned that the Queen was not only beautiful, she was not afraid to speak her mind in front of war seasoned men and she represented her people well. She did not cower, as Sansa would have in the past, when the Northern Lords had refused to call her Queen or when they questioned her position to speak of war and of strategy. Sometimes, Sansa would look at her and wonder where her strength came from. _Did Daenerys struggle in this world because she was a woman as Sansa herself had?_  

Sansa had wanted to know the Queen, wanted to talk to her for Jon loved her and Sansa knew it would only be a matter of time before she became part of the pack. _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

But then Jaime Lannister had arrived and with the exception of Jon, any love the Northerners had for her faded quickly. Seeing as the Queen was the one to form an alliance with the Kingslayer, he became part of her people. He advised her on the war council on the role of the Dothraki and Unsullied in the coming war and the dragons as well. Sansa did not trust the Kingslayer but listening to his strategy, she had to admit they were sound and spoke of the experience he has had in battles.

By the end of the week, Winterfell was well fortified with deep trenches and were to be filled with barrels of oil as soon as they were ready. The blacksmiths and carpenters were hard at work to build more siege weapons as well as a few scorpions that Cersei had built to shoot down dragons. Jaime Lannister had also personally guided the builders about the details. In the day, it was not an unusual sight to see the Kingslayer walking the walls of the castle with the Queen, no doubt looking for any potential gaps in their defences and planning how the dragons could be used in the war.

“We’re almost there!” Sansa blinked as the window of her carriage was opened abruptly and she could see Arya’s face. Arya’s face was flushed from riding and she was perspiring from the heat but there was a wide grin on her face.

“Are you sure?” she asked, frowning in confusion. She was sure she would smell the capital if they were approaching.

“Yes, you should ride with us and see,” Arya said and rode ahead. Sansa then peered out the window to see King’s Landing, looming before them.

“Jon!” Sansa heard her sister screech. Her horse whickered. Then her carriage came to a stop as well. Sansa smiled as she opened the door of the carriage. The sun flooded into the carriage and she stepped out into the warmth of the sun.

In front of their Northern party, was the royal entourage that consisted the Kingsguards and one Dothraki. Above them, the crowned dragon and wolf banner flapped in the wind. At the head of the entourage, closest to the Dothraki, was the Queen and the Prince, both of them dismounting from their horses.

The Queen was smiling at Jon who was locked in an embrace with Arya, in the middle of both of their parties. When they drew apart, Arya looked up at Jon, “I missed you, big brother,”

Jon smiled, “I missed you too,” then Arya peered behind Jon.

“Little white wolf!” Arya laughed, approaching the Prince. The Prince smiled shyly. He hugged her, laughing when Arya tickled him on his sides. They had not seen the Prince since he was a babe and he could not have possibly remember them but he took to Arya easily enough.

She turned to see Jon looking at her, smiling. He was wearing a white grey doublet with black pants. His curly locks looked shorter than she remembered. Sansa approached him and dropped in a perfect curtsy, “Your Grace,”

Jon laughed, “none of that, Sansa!” he pulled her into an embrace and Sansa was surprised. She looked over his shoulder to see Arya hugging the Queen as well, “it is good to see you, have you been well?” her middle warmed as she came to know that his time in the capital had not changed her brother, as she had feared.

Sansa smiled, nodding, “we missed you at Winterfell,”

“Thank you for coming all this way,” Jon smiled, his hands on her shoulders.

Sansa shook her head, “it was nothing. It has been quite a while since we visited,”

“The Starks will always have a home in King’s Landing,” Jon turned to his side and his smile, if possible, widened. His eyes softened. Sansa turned to see the Queen, standing beside Jon.

Sansa curtsied, “my Queen,”

“Daenerys,” the Queen corrected, an easy smile on her face and a warmth in her eyes. The Queen was glowing, her cheeks pink from riding, her silver hair braided intricately and had a beautiful sheen as the sun shone down on them. She was wearing a pure white tunic and over it, a black cloak over one shoulder and black pants and boots that made it possible for her to ride. It was simple, not what Sansa pictured a Queen to be wearing. Sansa smiled, nodding, “you look well, sister,” Daenerys took her hands in hers.

“Jae! Look what we brought you,” Arya ran past them and into the carriage. Jaehaerys watched curiously as his aunt disappeared and re-emerged, cradling something white in her arms. As she approached, Arya knelt before the Prince and gently opened her arms just slightly.

It stirred and Jaehaerys shouted, “a wolf!” said creature lifted its little head from Arya’s arms then, sniffing the air. Jaehaerys grinned as he reached over to pat it over its head.

“Not just any wolf, my Prince,” Arya smiled, “a direwolf,” she pointed to the stark banner and Jaehaerys’ eyes widened in wonder.

Jon took a sharp breath as he looked at the wolf in Arya’s arms. His eyes was beginning to redden around the rim as he approached and peered at the wolf. It was a splitting image of the direwolf that was Jon’s; Ghost. The one who had sacrificed its life to save Jon from a white walker. The resemblance was indeed uncanny, apart from its eyes that was orange, the colour of a flame, rather than red.

“Are you giving her to me?” Jaehaerys’ eyes widened as Arya took the wolf into her hands and handed it to the Prince.

Arya nodded, “it’s a boy,” she said, “you will train him and feed him yourself. If you do, he will be your friend, forever,”

Jaehaerys beamed at her as he gently took the wolf in his arms, cradling it to his chest and nuzzling his face into the fur of the wolf. The wolf whined, sniffing Jaehaerys’ face before burying its face into Jaehaerys’ chest.

“He likes you,” Sansa said. Jaehaerys looked up at her and grinned.

“Thank you,” Jon said then, his voice thick with emotions, “Arya, Sansa,”

Arya smiled, “it was no problem at all, Jon. The little white wolf is as much a Stark and part of the pack. Even if he is half dragon,” she looked meaningfully at Jon.

Jon palmed the back of Jaehaerys’ head gently, “you’ll have to give him a name,”

Jaehaerys’ eyes widened with excitement, “He’s really white…” he looked at the white pup in his arms as the pup looked at him, his eyes were orange, like fire. Then the pup yipped at Jaehaerys, “I’ll call him _Suvion_! _Suvion bona zālagon kessa_ ,”

Sansa frowned, confused and looked at Jon but Jon shrugged.

“Ice. Ice that will burn,” Daenerys said, smiling at Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys turned his mother then, grinning and nodding, “it’s a good name, Jaehaerys,” 

Arya smiled, nodding, “it is,”

Jaehaerys turned back to his wolf, nuzzling its fur, “ _Suvion,_ you will be Suvion!”

 

**_Jon_ **

He watched Jaehaerys run towards Maegor Holdfast, his direwolf pup yipping after him, struggling to catch up. They were ahead of Daenerys and Sansa who were walking side by side and talking. Jon had even heard Sansa laugh. It warmed his heart to watch the people he loved, all in one place and Jon realised he had missed this. Having Daenerys and Jaehaerys with him was more than what Jon thought he deserved but with Sansa and Arya here with him now, it almost felt like he was home again, back in Winterfell; when the closest thing he had to worry about was losing to Robb in sword fighting and embarrassing himself in front of the handmaidens.

“Where did you find a direwolf?” he asked.

“Nymeria,” she replied. Arya’s direwolf was all that was left of the six they had found, seemingly, a lifetime ago. Her direwolf now led a pack of wolves. They had came to their aid in the Great War and after, Jon had heard they were commonly spotted in the Wolfswood just behind Winterfell, “She’s mated with a direwolf from beyond the wall. She came to Winterfell a few moons ago, bloodied and carrying a brood of newborn pups. She left them with us and left. I tried to get her to stay, for us to help her but she left anyway,” Arya’s grey eyes were sad as she said and Jon squeezed her shoulder gently, “Suvion was the only white one from the pack,”

“Thank you, Arya,” he smiled.

“It was no problem. Jae could use some traces of his wolfsblood around him,” she wrinkled her nose and he laughed. She turned to him then, “you’re a good King, Jon,”

Jon turned to properly look at Arya, beside him. His sister was a woman grown now, her head coming up to his nose. Not nearly as tall as Sansa but a height that suited her. Jon could still remember how graceful and nimble her she was as she had fought the wights. Her brown hair that used to be short was now longer but was kept tied behind her head. Her grey eyes were twinkling and were of the exact shade as Jon’s; the Stark eyes. Arya had grown to have a wild beauty about her, as Jon had heard people say about Lyanna Stark, his mother.

“So you are King now,” Arya continued, peering at him, “I thought you didn’t want to be King, what changed your mind?” they began walking after Daenerys and Sansa.

Jon smiled, “Daenerys did, although she doesn’t know she did,”

Arya frowned, raising a brow.

“She was alone, Arya. I knew what it is like to be alone, to rule alone and not a day passed that I did not wish Daenerys was right beside me, ruling with me. I couldn’t do that to her,”

“She truly is good for you, you love her and only she can change your mind,” Arya rolled her eyes at him, “you can be really stubborn when you tried,”

Jon scoffed, “I’m not the only one,” he teased, looking meaningfully at her, “you are so stubborn that Father allowed you to learn sword fighting-“ Jon paused then and his eyes fell. _Father?_ Except he was not really his father. He was his uncle-

“You can call him Father, Jon,” Arya placed a hand on his shoulder, her other on her sword, Needle, at her hip, “I know he would like that,”

Jon nodded.

“Even if you are _Aegon_ now,” Arya grinned, making a face at that name but her cheekiness faded as Jon’s eyes darted about, “does no one here know that?”

Jon shook his head, “no,”

“Why not?” Arya frowned.

“I am not a Targaryen-“

“And you are not a Stark,” Arya sighed, “as you have said,” she hesitated, “but…”

Jon stopped walking and turned to his sister, “what of it? You know you can speak your mind with me, Arya,”

She chewed her lip before she eventually said, “it doesn’t seem right. Not something Father would have done,”

“What do you mean?” Jon frowned, in confusion.

“You are hiding who you are from the people,” Arya said, her eyes holding his with a seriousness, “you _are_ Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I don’t know much about ruling but I think the people have the right to know who exactly their King is,”

Jon looked down then. He knew she was right, deep down. Just because he did not speak of it and no one knew, but some trusted few, it did not make it any less the truth. Not telling the people who he was and letting them think he was just the Bastard of Winterfell; it was beginning to sound like he was lying to the people. _And so, there would only be better and better lies._

Arya patted him on the shoulder heavily then, “think on it, brother,” she turned from him and continued walking after Daenerys and Sansa, to their rooms.

Then what was spoken earlier came to him. _I would think that would bother all others but you, your Grace._

What Arianne Martell had said to him earlier then came back to him. Everyone thought him a Bastard and Jon, having worn it like armour for so long, hardly cared. But when she had said that, Jon had felt a rage that he had not felt in a while. Arianne Martell had not merely insulted him then, she had insulted Jaehaerys; the son of a Bastard in her eyes. He had not thought of how people would look at Daenerys and Jaehaerys because of who they think he was; the Bastard of Winterfell.

But he was not. He was Aegon Targaryen, he always had been.

_There will be no more hiding and no more lies._

 

**_Daenerys_ **

“I would let the people know who my parents really are,”

She felt her brows raise in surprise and she turned to look at him. He was sitting up against the pillows, the sheets crumpled and over his bare lower half. Jon’s hair was tousled from sleep. She could see his many scars over his bare torso and the large burn scar over his back but Daenerys thought he had never looked more desirable to her at that moment. 

Since his sisters had arrived, Jon was happier; Daenerys could tell. His smile came easier and his grey eyes were brighter, the same ones looking expectantly at her. She nodded then, “may I ask why the sudden change of mind?”

Jon said, “Arya said I was lying to the people, by simply not telling them. And… I don’t want anyone to think less of you or Jaehaerys because of who they think I am; all because I don’t want to be the son of a man I did not know,”

Daenerys left the balcony and approached her husband. She settled into his lap, pleased that his arms opened instinctively for her and held her to him firmly. She fitted in his embrace; a place where she belonged and felt safe.

“I will burn whoever who would think less of you or Jaehaerys,” Daenerys said, nuzzling her face into his neck but she felt Jon withdraw, his eyebrows knitted in obvious disapproval and Daenerys pressed a kiss to his bearded chin. She did not want to argue this morning; not after the lovely night they have had which she had spent being loved by a man who loved her and loving a man who she loved.

It seemed Jon did not want to argue as well. She felt him relax when she had kissed him and she nuzzled her face into his neck, “would you like that?” he suddenly asked and she loved the way his throat quivered against her cheek as he spoke, his voice deep and thick with the Northern accent that she loved as well.

“Would I like what?” she asked, closing her eyes as she breathed in his scent.

Jon’s hand came up to stroke her hair, “that you would be the wife of Aegon Targaryen,” he muttered.

Daenerys could not contain her laugh and she drew back from him to hold his face in her small hands, “yes I would, almost as much as I like being the wife of Jon Snow,”

Jon’s cheek grew hot under her hands and before she could tease him further, he leaned forward and claimed her lips. She heard herself moan appreciatively as he parted her lips gently and his tongue delved into her mouth.

He pulled away then so he could find the knot that held her silk night robe in place, “Jon…” she whispered. As the knot was loosened, he tugged slowly at the silk, kissing the expanse of her chest that was revealed to him. She moaned, his lips felt so good as was his beard, rough against her already heated and sensitive skin. Her back arched unwittingly and her hip grounded against his.

He groaned, “Daenerys, don’t,” he said with his lips on her collarbone. She ignored him and shrugged off her night robe and tossed it away from them. As she reached for him then, she glimpsed the hungry look in his eyes; taking in her naked form before him. She pulled his face to hers, delving deep into the hot depth of his mouth. His strong arms pulled her close to him. But even then, they both knew they were not close enough.

“Why?” Daenerys whispered against his lips, biting back a moan as she felt the scars on his right palm drag over the skin on her back; setting the nerves alight.

“I wanted to-“ he started to reply but then Daenerys firmly grounded her heated core over him, through the sheets and he groaned and growled a curse. Daenerys gasped in surprise as he took her into his arms and pushed her into the bed, her head against a pillow. She looked up at him, her core aching for him. Her legs, which were wrapped around his hips, tightened to pull him closer to where she wanted him but the sheet still frustratingly between them.

Jon yanked away the sheets away as he lowered himself to kiss her. His left hand caressed her cheek, trailed down her neck, palmed her breast gently before he skim over her navel, her hip and Daenerys felt her breath catch in her throat as she felt his fingers between her legs. She moaned as he gently applied a slight pressure, gentle but firm, “Jon,” her hips bucked against his fingers and she tightened her thighs around his hips, “please,” she whimpered.

He looked at her, his grey eyes smouldering with desire. Then she felt his fingers leave her but before she could lament their absence, she felt him against her before he slowly but surely filled her.

“ _Daenerys_ ,” he moaned loudly. Then he sighed, burying his face into her neck. She gasped as his tongue trail over her heated skin, “you’re beautiful,” his hot breath and guttural voice sent shivers through her body and she arched herself closer to him.

“And I am yours,” she replied, turning her head so she could kiss his face, feeling the roughness of his beard on her lips, “ _until the end of my days_ ,” 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is one of my favourite chapters! I'm honestly so excited for you guys to read it. Enjoy!

Chapter 17

**_Jon_ **

“It is a beautiful day,” Daenerys said softly. Her warm body was pressed up against his side, her head rested on his shoulder. And her fingers were trailing over his bare abdomen gently, caressing a scar when they came to it. Under the sheets, their legs were tangled together.

Jon opened his eyes and followed her gaze out of the balcony, “yes it is,” he smiled down at her.

Then she flattened her hand over his chest, over his heart, propping herself up, “I want to go down to city today,”

Jon frowned, “why?”

“I want to walk among the people,” Daenerys replied and her eyes fell, “my brother, Rhaegar, used to do that. He sang to them,”

Jon felt a lump in his throat as he tried and failed to picture his biological father, a tall handsome man with silver hair, “it could be dangerous,” he told her.

“This tourney is for the people to see me and know me. But as Queen, I should know them as well. And I wouldn’t know them by staying here in the Red Keep, away from them,” Daenerys leaned closer, “and I would be safe, I would have you with me,” she watched him, her eyes wide and watching for his response. Then Jon realised that it may not seem like it but she was seeking his opinion, if not permission; as she would an equal.

Looking into those eager lilac eyes, Jon relented, “we would bring some of the Kingsguard,” Jon said, adding when she frowned and made to protest, “it would only be wise,” he stated solemnly.

Daenerys nodded. He smiled and she mirrored it. Jon thought she glowed, “but no armour and we’ll dress plainly,”

Jon chuckled then, his fingers coming up to tangle in her silver hair, “You could never be plain. One look at your beautiful hair and they would know who you are, it would not matter that they haven’t seen you,”

Daenerys smiled, pressing herself closer to him, “a hood would suffice,” he could almost feel her excitement spilling from her.

“Tyrion would not approve,” Jon told her airily, looking up at the canopy.

He looked down to see her grinning up at him, a playful twinkle in her eyes; not unlike the one he saw in Jaehaerys’ eyes when he had thought of something ‘fun’, “we wouldn’t tell him,” she smirked.

“My Queen!” Jon tried his best to sound reproachful but he was sure she could feel the tremors of amusement run through his body.

Then she sat up and Jon couldn’t quell the disappointment at the loss of her in his arms, “we wouldn’t be King and Queen today,” she declared to him, “we would just be husband and wife,” at his raised brows, she continued, “with a few… friends accompanying us,”

Jon chuckled and nodded, “aye, my darling wife,”

Daenerys smiled back at him once more before she left the bed and entered her dressing room. Jon’s eyes followed her naked form until she disappeared behind the door. Then he lay back into the soft pillows, sighing happily.

*

They were attracting curious looks but none of the handmaidens greeted them, although some had recognised his face and paused. But at a shake of his head, they walked on, frowning in puzzlement. Daenerys was walking beside him. She was wearing a blue commoner dress. The dress was made of rough fabric and the bodice was laced up in the front. Over her dress, she wore a brown cloak and had drawn up the hood over her silver hair. But despite that, Jon thought she did not look lowborn at all; her face was too beautiful for it.

Jon was wearing a black jerkin over a simple cotton shirt. He had pulled on one of his old breeches and worn out boots. He too wore a clock, to hide his face if he were to be recognised and to hide Longclaw, which he carried at his hip.

Behind them were Ser Jorah, Ser Rodrik Karstark and Ser Raymun Darry. All of them dressed in simple clothing, as ordered by the King and Queen. At their hips, they wield their swords. As they approached the postern, Jon saw Daenerys turn back to look at their small entourage. Seeing their rigid posture and their eyes darting about for any signs of danger, Daenerys sighed and Jon laughed.

“Sers, relax. This would be as much an expedition for the lot of you as it is for us,” Jon told them.

“Yes, your Grace,” Ser Rodrik Karstark snapped to attention as the King spoke to him and Daenerys laughed.

“You will not address us as King or Queen from this moment until we return to the Red Keep,” Daenerys said.

“Yes, my Que-“ the knight floundered as Daenerys shot him a withering look, “yes, my Lady,”

Daenerys sighed, “you will address us by our names,”

“Your Grace-“ Ser Raymun Darry begin to protest but Jon shot him a look and he stopped, lowering his head in compliance.

“Ser Jorah, you as well,” Daenerys turned to him.

Ser Jorah nodded, “yes-“ he glanced at her, “Daenerys,”

“Dany would have to do,” lines formed on her forehead as she muttered, evidently bothered by being addressed as such but could see no other choice; even her name would be recognisable.  

Then she turned to Jon and he was surprised when she took his hand, lacing his fingers with hers and together, they left the Red Keep through the narrow postern that led to a dirt path down to the city.

The city was bustling with life and activity in the market, especially full with the Tourney starting very soon. Every day, the lords and ladies of the noble houses arrived at the Red Keep and in the city, peasants arrived from all over, all wanting to see their Queen and probably their King as well. Jon could not help but feel guilty then for being such a distant King. He did his duty but he had been sullen and reluctant as King, he had been alone. But no longer. He glanced at Daenerys. Her eyes were bright and curious as they entered the narrow streets of King’s Landing, her pale cheeks pink from the heat.

By the side of the streets were stalls set up by merchants from all over the Seven Kingdoms. The store owners were selling their wares, some were in the streets, trying to persuade people to come up to their stalls.

A woman then approached, “Madam! Would you like buy some fine silks from the city of Qarth?”

Daenerys turned and smiled at the young woman. Quickly, she placed a hand on Jorah’s arm before he can step forward. Jon saw the look of warning she shot him before she turned to follow the woman back to her stall. Jorah nodded and stepped back.

Jon smiled, following Daenerys, a hand on the small of her back. At the stall, as the woman had said, the silks of all colours were laid out. Jon stood beside her, watching as Daenerys listened to the woman boast that her silks were the finests in all of Westeros and would be perfect for the summer heat. All the while, Daenerys had smiled and nodded, eventually drawing out a silver coin to pay the woman for the two rolls of black and maroon silks.

They then left the stall. Daenerys made purchases at the small jewellery stand at the corner of the street and then buying an elaborate dragon brooch at the stall beside it.

As they strolled down the streets, Daenerys looking curiously at the wares, Ser Raymun stepped up beside Daenerys then and they both turned to see him place a firm hand around the arm of an approaching man. He was dressed in rags and was barefoot. He was filthy from head to toe, his hair was sparse and grey on his head. There was an obvious stench as well. A beggar.

Jon reached into his pouch as Daenerys placed a hand on Ser Raymun’s shoulder. The knight regarded the Queen before he obliged and stepped back from the beggar.

Then she reached for her pouch but Jon handed her a silver coin. She met his eyes, surprised. Then she smiled at him and took the coin. She approached the beggar and gently took his hand from his side and into hers. She pressed the silver coin in his hand.

“T-t-thank you!” the beggar’s eyes widened as he saw the silver coin.

“Buy some food for yourself and your family,” Daenerys said softly.

The beggar nodded profusely and he dropped to his knees.

Daenerys was appalled and she reached to pull the beggar up, “there is no need,” but he remained on his knees.

“Thank you!” his voice was muffled, his head turned down to the concrete. Then he looked up at her and bowed in thanks.

Daenerys sighed and smiled at him before they left. Since the first one, every beggar that they passed was given a silver coin. Daenerys would look into the eyes of every single one of them as she handed them the coin and they looked at her like they would a God; because of her piercing lilac eyes, her beauty or the coin, Jon was not sure.

Later, they passed by the street of steel. This street was filled with smiths and even at the mouth of the street, Jon could feel the heat from the furnaces. The street was packed with squires of the nobles and hedge knights who were all buying new weapons or armour for the upcoming Tourney, hoping to win glory and make a name for themselves.

Jon had thought Daenerys would continue to the street of seeds and was surprised when she had walked into the sweltering alley that smelled of sweat and smoke, dragging him along by his hand, “Daenerys,” he tugged her back, “it’s too hot and crowded here,”

She looked up at him. Jon was not a tall man but with Daenerys’ petite form, he was just right for her, “it’s not too hot,” she protested, “and there could be something I would want to buy,” she said, tugging him along and Jon relented. He glanced back to the Kingsguards and they nodded to him, keeping closer as they walked into the crowd.

Jon kept his head low. He shouldered past men as they walked through the throngs of people, Daenerys walking close at his side, a step behind. His arm was around her waist under her cloak. He did not miss the stares of many men when they saw Daenerys. Jon was sure they did not recognise her for her silver hair was well hidden under her hood and they did not seem overly surprised when they saw her. They merely looked entranced to see a beautiful lady in the street of steel, it was truly not a common sight.

“Any weapons for you, my lady?” Daenerys blinked as a man approached and in his hand he held a sheathed dagger. Jon stiffened.

Daenerys smiled, “I’m not a lady but yes I’ll take a look at your wares. This is fine work,” Jon relaxed then and peered over to see that it was true, the swords were well forged and the pommel, all beautiful and exquisite.

“Forgive me, I thought you were of noble birth, Madam,” he said, smiling, “is there anything in particular you would like to buy? Perhaps for your husband here?” he gestured to Jon.

Daenerys turned to him, smiling.

“There is no need, Daene-Dany,” he corrected hurriedly.

“I will get you something,” Daenerys decided and she reached over for a dagger with an exquisite black sheath. On the pommel of the dagger was a small red jewel. She carefully drew the dagger from the sheath and Jon glimpsed the fine steel underneath, “did you forge it yourself, Ser?”

“Oh I am no knight, Madam,” he grinned, “but aye, I forged them all,” he beamed with pride.

“They are beautiful,” Daenerys smiled, “we’ll have this one,” she turned to Jon and he could only gaze at her, in awe. Suddenly feeling bold, he leant forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead in thanks. She closed her eyes momentarily as he did so and he treasured these rare moments when they could indulge themselves before others. She smiled sweetly at him and then paid the man with two copper stars.

“Seven blessings on both of you!” the man bowed his thanks and Jon smiled and nodded to him before they left.

Jon was starting to get used to buzz of the street. He felt himself begin to relax. Then Daenerys handed him the dagger and Jon took it with a smile, “Why did you buy me a dagger?” Jon asked, her hand held securely in his. He studied the pattern on the sheath of the black dagger.

Daenerys shrugged, “you don’t seem to have one and can’t I buy something for my husband?” she smiled, almost playful as she leaned closer.

Jon chuckled, “of course you can,” he gently let go of her hand to snake his arm around her.

As they passed by shops and forges, Daenerys would peer in curiously despite the heat and crowd and Jon wished she didn’t. For having a woman in this street was already seeking more attention than they intended and when she approached the storefront, the men would stare at her, noticing her beauty but none of them recognised her face.

Then just as Jon and Daenerys were considering to buy a handsome sword a blacksmith was selling, Jon noticed from the corner of his eye that a young man was staring; his mouth hanging agape. This man was unlike the other peasants. He was not dressed in riches but his jerkin was clean and not as worn out. As a whole, he looked neat as well and Jon could only conclude he was a squire of a noble lord, “m-m-m-my King-“ Jon heard him say, blinking several times and Jon immediately approached him, Daenerys at his side. She seemed to be oblivious to what had happened and Jon was thankful that with the noise from the forges, the peasants had not heard as well.

As Jon stood before the boy, he almost dropped to his knees but Jon immediately held him around his shoulders, “lad, there is no need and I would greatly appreciate if you would keep this to yourself,” he told him hurriedly.

The young man’s eyes widened as Jon practically confirmed his speculations. Then Daenerys came to stand beside Jon and his eyes fell to her. If possible, they widened even further, “m-my Q-Queen?” his whispered and made to bow but Jon’s hands held him in place by his shoulders. Daenerys smiled at him.

“Are you a squire?” Jon asked.

“Y-y-y-yes your Grace,” beside him, Daenerys cringed, glancing about to see that no one had paid them, or what the boy had said, any mind yet, “for Lord Manderly,” Jon nodded then. It would make sense for him to remember his face with such a recent meeting between them but something in the back of Jon’s mind told him that people tended to remember the face of their King when they saw it.

“Good lad, tell no one about this,” Jon said again and when the young man nodded frantically, clamping his mouth shut, “run along then,” Jon smiled and the young man glanced at the Queen for a moment before he took off down the street.

He met Daenerys’ eye and he could see the relief plain on her face. They had almost had to end their little expedition. If the people knew that their King and Queen stood amongst them; it would almost be meaningless if they were to parade down the streets. Getting to know the people while they were bowed or on their knees was clearly not what Daenerys or Jon had in mind.

As they made to proceed, they startled as they heard a loud shout and then something crashed. Immediately, the 3 knights made to proceed to protect their King and Queen but no one was approaching and in front, there was a crowd gathering. From where they were, it was impossible to see what was happening.

Daenerys slipped her hand into Jon’s, almost naturally, and they walked to the source of the commotion.

“My Ki-“ Ser Rodrik started but quickly corrected himself, “my Lord, we should leave the street,”

Jon raised a hand at his side and they proceeded. As they neared the crowd, Jon stepped forward and shouldered his way through the crowd, Daenerys behind him, the 3 knights behind and beside her. All the while, her hand remained firmly in his.

Jon peered over the shoulders of two men to see a tall and large young man standing at the side of the street. His hair was sandy brown and plastered to his forehead in sweat. He was not wearing a shirt and his body was thick with heavy muscles and in front of him, there was a block of stone placed over two bench.

“I think it’s a performance,” he told Daenerys as she peered past him. Jon shifted to give her space and they stood, watching the man.

Then the man suddenly shouted and brought his right arm over the block. They watched in awe as the stone block broke clean into two, crashing to the ground. Around them, the crowd applauded, shouting their praise. Some of them began to throw coins onto the wicker basket splayed out in front of the man. Jon dug into his pouch then and noticed Daenerys doing the same. Jon shouldered their way through the crowd, Daenerys behind him as he parted the crowd. When they got to the performer, he was collecting the coins.

“That was very impressive,” Jon told him. He looked up from crouching on the floor as he collected his coins.

“Thank you,” he nodded.

“Are you a warrior?” Jon asked.

“No,” he shook his head and stood. He towered a head over Jon easily and he was evidently slouching.

“But you can fight?” Jon asked, glancing at the pile of the man’s things behind him. The plain pommel of a sword was sticking out from his bag,

“A little…I have always wanted to be a knight, but I’m just the son of a baker,” he replied.

“Are you going to participate in the Tourney?” Daenerys asked.

The man’s eyes widened then, “the Tourney for the Queen?” at Daenerys’ earnest nod, he shook his head, appalled, “no, I would never dream to have the honour to fight in a tourney and in front of the King and Queen,” his eyes seem to glaze over then in a look of longing.

“Why not?” Daenerys frowned.

“Well… only knights fight in those things and I haven’t enough money-“

Daenerys handed him two golden dragons and his eyes widened as he saw it. Then he slowly looked up at her, in disbelief.

“Use it buy some armour and participate in the Tourney,” she smiled.

“I…” he looked down at the coin in his hand.

Jon patted his shoulder, “you have the gift of strength and if you really know how to use that sword, you may make a name for yourself yet,” the young man looked up from his hand, his black eyes then hardened in determination. He nodded.

“Thank you M’Lord, M’Lady,” he bowed and he looked at them a moment longer, as if committing their faces to memory, before he collected his things hurriedly and ran off. Jon and Daenerys looked at each other then smiled. The crowd was still dissipating as they turned to resume walking down the street when suddenly, Jon glimpsed a man in the crowd leering in their direction. Jon frowned, staring at the man. He was staring right at Daenerys. Then the man approached, a gleam in his eyes. As he reached a hand out and was inches from Daenerys’ shoulder, Jon grabbed his wrist firmly.

“Hey!” the man growled, glaring at him. Jon glimpsed Daenerys turning around to see the man, closer to her than she expected. She stumbled back into Ser Jorah.

“Don’t touch her,” Jon seethed.

“Who are you?” the man growled then before Jon could react, he spat in his face, blinding Jon. Then he felt starburst explode in his vision and Jon stumbled back, “Hey, let go!” Jon knew Ser Rodrik and Ser Raymun had him then.

“Jon!” he rubbed the spit from his eyes to see Daenerys shrugging out of Jorah’s hold. He reached for her with his free hand and held her to his side, “are you alright?” she asked him.

Jon nodded and he glared at the man. From this distance, Jon could see the unsteady gait he had and the unfocussed look in his eyes. The man was drunk. Ser Rodrik and Ser Raymun held him over his shoulder firmly, each of them holding his arm behind him. But Jon was not going to fight this man, not a poor drunk lustful fellow who had no idea he could lose his life for what he just did, “let’s go,” Jon muttered and he guided Daenerys away. He glimpsed both Kingsguard members let him go and made to follow.

“Hey! Where are yer going yer coward!” the man shouted after him. Jon paused and turned, “got yerself a fine whore yer don’t have the balls to fight for? Take ‘er, I’ll go down to the street of silk and find myself another one just like ‘er!”

Jon glowered. Then he glimpsed Ser Raymun taking a step forward but Jon held up a hand and stepped forward himself, “take that back,” he said quietly.

“What? That yer little bird there looks like one of the whores at-“

Jon threw a punch and he hit the man straight in the face. The drunk man spun and fell face first into the concrete, some of his teeth knocked loose, “take that back,” Jon grabbed him on the scruff of his shirt, flipping him on his back. The drunk murmured something incoherently and Jon punched him again, twice, “I said-“ he punched him, “take. It. back,” a punch for each word and Jon drew back his fist again.

“Wait!” the drunk shouted, “sorry alrigh’!”

Jon gritted his teeth, “are you?” he seethed. He had half a mind to punch him again.  

“I am!” he cried, “I really am,” he whimpered, looking between Jon’s face and his fist.  

Jon felt his blood still boiling but then he glanced up to Daenerys. She was standing with Ser Jorah and Ser Rodrik at her side, their hand on their sword. She was evidently surprised to see him like this. He glanced around them then to see that a crowd has gathered and are murmuring amongst themselves. Jon quickly rose. He then glanced to his side to see Ser Raymun. Nodding to him, Jon hurriedly walked to Daenerys. He slipped his hand into hers and she let him, then they quickly left.

Jon did not stop till they were out of the street of steel and not even then. Until Daenerys tugged on his hand insistently and he stopped and turned to her. Her eyes were wide with concern as she looked at him. Then she took his hand in both of hers and brought it up. He glanced down to see that his knuckles were bloodied from striking that drunk. Gently, she pulled him off to the side and they sat on the steps by the side of the street

She reached for the waterskin at his waist. She let go of his hand then to turn to Ser Rodrik. Under his arm, he held the 2 rolls of silk they had bought. He watched as Daenerys ripped a piece of the black silk. She came back to sit beside him. Washing the cloth with water, she then began to wash his wound. His knuckles stung and Jon flinched unwittingly. He stared as Daenerys, noticing his wince, brought his hand closer to her face, gently blowing on it, soothing the sting.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Daenerys looked at him, confused.

“I’m sorry for ruining the day,” Jon looked to the side.

“You did no such thing,” Daenerys replied simply, “that man did,” as she finished cleaning his wound, Jon watched as she gently blew on it, “does it hurt a lot?”

“No,” Jon smiled. He took his hand from hers and cupped her face gently. At that moment, with the sun about to set on the city, Jon dared to dream; that he was just a peasant, sitting on the sidewalk with his wife after a long day of selling their crops at the market. And later when they returned home, he would chop firewood for them to cook dinner while his wife would call for their child to return home from playing outside so he could wash up before his meal. After dinner, they would go to sleep in a small cramped bed together, having nothing but each other for warmth.

“What are you thinking of?” Daenerys asked, pulling him from his reverie.

Jon blinked and he shook his head, realising a smile was spread wide over his lips. He leant closer, “just how it would be like if we were who we pretended to be today,” he said softly. Daenerys’ brows rose and her face softened. Then Jon scooted closer to her on the steps, opening his arm and Daenerys leaned into his side, “we would be worrying about where to get the money to buy food to break our fast on the next day. We would have nothing but the clothes on our backs, the house we built and each other..." he chuckled then at how miserable Daenerys would probably feel about the absurdly pathetic situation they would be in.

However, Daenerys wrapped her arms around his torso then, “it sounds perfect, Jon,” she replied, her voice equally quiet.

Jon drew back, surprised, “it does?” at Daenerys’ earnest nod, the longing clear on her sweet face, he grinned, “if we were peasants, I would want at least a dozen babies you know. Our daughters could help you around the house and our sons could help me in the fields,”

Daenerys chuckled, “how are we going to feed them all without money?” she wondered aloud, teasing him.

He shrugged, “we would manage. At the very least, I would make sure our crops would be enough to feed us,” Jon said with a confident smile, “I would never let you or our babies go hungry,”

She held his gaze then and Jon knew in his own eyes, she could see the longing there as palpable as he saw in hers.

He glanced down at her lips as she looked at his but they both knew they wouldn’t, not here. Jon then drew back, suddenly acutely aware of the knights standing uncomfortably beside them, watching the people pass by on the streets. Jon glanced at the setting sun and realised the people were starting to pack up their stalls. He shot to his feet then, “wait here,” he told Daenerys and then the knights. Then Jon ran off in the direction he remembered seeing it.

He turned left on the next street and then another right. Then he saw it, a small stand on the corner of the street. The seller was beginning to pack her wares.

“Wait,” Jon ran up to her. The woman looked up, “I would like to buy some flowers,” he caught his breath.

“Which one would you like?” she asked.

Jon looked at the assortment of flowers before him. They were of all shades and colour but one stood out to him. It was blue as frost, “this one,” he did not what compelled him to choose that but he did.

“A winter rose, this one is rare and the last one I have. Excellent choice, Ser,” her eyes glanced down at the hint of his sword by his side under the cloak. She smiled as she removed the flower and began preparing it for him, “who would this be for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Jon smiled, “it’s for my wife,”

The woman seemed to study him with a smile, “you must love her very much,”

Jon nodded and dug out a silver coin and handed it to the woman, taking the rose. Then he took off where he had left her. Daenerys was now standing instead of sitting. She was frowning as she watched the sunset. Beside her, Jorah was watching her while Raymun and Rodrik looked around. Jon ran up to them.

“Jon, where did you-“ Daenerys said, her eyes filled with worried and some annoyance. Then she paused as she noticed he had a hand behind his back, “what is it?” she asked cautiously, “where did you go?”

Jon suddenly felt his heart thumping nervously in his chest. He had never given the girl he fancied anything in his life and he did not know if Daenerys even liked flowers. For all he knew, she could hate them or they could make her nose itch, like Arya. He was starting to wish he had thought of it before he bought it.

“Jon,” Daenerys took a step towards him and Jon decided to throw all caution to the wind. He presented the rose in front of her, almost afraid to look at her. Daenerys’ eyes widened just slightly and her brows lifted. Eventually, she lifted both hands to take the rose from him, her fingers brushing his and she smelled it. Jon felt himself relax as Daenerys smiled. It emboldened him as well so he stepped forward, holding her by her waist. She gazed up at him and told him softly, “thank you, this is beautiful. This rose, and today,”


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

**_Jon_ **

“What are you doing?”

He turned to see Daenerys standing at the door of her dressing room, staring at him. Jon smiled when he saw her. She was wearing a Westerosi gown this day. He had never seen her wear a Westerosi gown. Her gown was a black colour that left her shoulders and neck bare. The sleeves of her dress covered her arms and touched the ground. Over her neck, she wore a silver collar that was wrought into the shape of a dragon.

“Getting ready for the tourney,” Jon blinked. As they should be.

“Why are you wearing your armour?” Daenerys asked and Jon did not need to glance down to know she was right. He was wearing his leather armour, black with red dragons embroidered over it.

“Because…” he reached over for his leather vambrace, “I am competing in the tourney,” he said, remembering on hindsight that he had neglected to inform her, much less seek her approval; out of habit than forgetfulness.

Daenerys paused. Her face remained a blank mask but Jon saw the way her shoulders tense. She swallowed before speaking, “why?” her voice was even but the fact that this knew information displeased her was obvious.

Jon shrugged, “I thought, as King, I would partake in the festivities,”

“I thought you never liked fighting,” Daenerys said.

Jon smiled, “I do not enjoy fighting to kill, this would be a little more than sparring,” he watched her face closely as she approached, she was not smiling back at him, “you do not approve,” he said.

“No one would dare to harm their King,” she stood before him and his fingers that were lacing up his leather vambrace paused, “it’s punishable by death,” she said coldly.

Jon removed his vambrace and placed it on the table then he placed both hands on her shoulders, caressing her down to her arms, “Daenerys, it’ll be a tourney and they would be allowed to strike me,” he said, “if they can,” he smiled warmly at her, one that was usually able to coax a smile from her.

Daenerys smiled tightly. Then she reached for the abandoned vambrace with one hand and took his hand in another. He held still, watching her, as she helped him lace it up. Her smile had faded and she was much too focussed on dressing him.

“Daenerys?” he probed.

She did not reply him for a moment and he waited. Then she reached for the vambrace for his other arm, “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she murmured stiffly as she began tightening the lace.

Jon paused. She was worried for him. Jon knew she was, as well, in the Great War but at that time, she had never allowed herself to be weak, vulnerable or afraid. There was simply no time for that. She had never told him; even when they had said their farewells before she was to take to the skies on Drogon and he stayed on the ground to fight with the men. All the while, she was a Queen talking to her King. There was never a hint of fear in her eyes or voice.

Now, as she stood before him, helping him put on his armour, she not the Queen going to war. She was a wife talking to her husband.

Then Jon realised how long they had been married but how little time they had actually spent together as husband and wife. The day they had spent among the people, Jon had felt as if he had just came to know a different side of Daenerys that he had never met; the Daenerys who would giggle and smile often, tease him in their light banter as they strolled down the streets, hold his hand whenever she pleased, which was often. They had loved as King and Queen in the war, as was required of them. When the war was over, Jon had four years to ease into the role to be a husband to Daenerys as she had slept. Now, Daenerys was slowly easing into the role to be his wife.

His heart warmed at the thought that this strong, beautiful and much-too-perfect being would be willing to shed her Queenly armour before him.

Daenerys tied a knot, fixing his vambrace in place. Jon gently took her hands in his, “thank you, my Queen,” he said softly, waiting for her to look at him, “don’t worry about me. I’ve trained in the Night’s Watch often enough,”

“I know you can fight,” Daenerys said, “but we don’t know who you would be fighting. They could have no love for their King…”

Jon squeezed her hand, “if they do try to assassinate their King in the middle of the melee, they would find I’m not so easy to kill,” he smiled.

Daenerys did not smile but she nodded, “I _will_ interfere if things go too far,” she warned.

Jon only nodded, his smile not faltering as he drew her into his arms and she let him. He never thought Daenerys would worry for him; that she feared for him. Such was her guardedness she had built over all her years in exile.

Then she drew back, “I don’t know if this is right but…” she looked down, removing her ring. Since he knew her, she had always wore that ring on her left index finger. She looked at it for a moment before she reached for his larger calloused hand, slipping the ring over his little finger. It fitted nicely, “it was my mother’s ring, Viserys had given it to me when I flowered. You will have it in this tourney” Daenerys said softly, lacing her fingers with his, “and with it, you will wear my favour,”

Jon felt his chest swell with pride. He gripped her fingers firmly, “I am honoured, my love,” he brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Then she reached for his crown on the table and placed it upon his head, one that matched the one on hers.

 

**_Daenerys_ **

“ _Muña_!” Daenerys turned as they left their chambers to see the prince running down the corridor, towards them. He was dressed in a black leather doublet with red dragons embroidered on the front, not unlike that which his Father wore. Daenerys smiled and she crouched, opening her arms as her son ran into her embrace, throwing his arms around her neck. Beside him, his white direwolf pup sat on its hunches, panting. Jaehaerys then drew away, unable to contain his excitement as he began rocking on the balls of his feet, “Maester Sam said a tourney would be really exciting! I would get to see knights joust and fight in the melee and-“ he paused as he looked at his father, all clad in his leather armour. Then his eyes lit up, “Father, will you be jousting?” 

Jon smiled, “yes but today, I will be in the melee,” Jaehaerys laughed in glee and clapped, “listen to your mother today,” Jon placed a hand on his head, caressing his silver hair.

Jaehaerys nodded and he turned to his direwolf, “Can Suvion come and sit with us?” the pup looked at its master, its tongue lolling out of his mouth. It yipped. The direwolf had visibly grown since they first had him.

“Of course he can,” Daenerys allowed the direwolf to sniff her and when it did, it walked closer to her, bumping her hand gently with its head in greeting, “as long as you behave and make sure Suvion behaves as well,”

Jaehaerys grinned and nodded.

“Your Grace,”

Daenerys stood and they turned to see Missandei approaching, “is it time?” she asked. Missandei nodded with a smile.

They turned and walked to the gates of the Red Keep. As they entered the outer yard, Daenerys could already hear the cries of the people and she stiffened. This would be the first time the people saw her, their Queen. _Would they think her the daughter of the Mad King?_ Daenerys was sure she already looked the part; silver hair and lilac eyes, the very image of her father. Drogon and the Dothraki seemed to have also given that idea some leverage while she slept. _And they may be right yet._ Her rage does consume her.

Then she felt a hand on her arm and she turned to see Jon beside her; her King. Her fires could not burn him and only he could soothe the rage boiling in her blood, threatening to consume her at every turn. He smiled at her assuredly and Daenerys felt some semblance of courage fill her. That courage brought her across the outer yard and to the steps of the entrance of the Red Keep, before her people. The crowd extended to as far as she could see down the streets and even the small balconies of the houses were filled.

“Queen Daenerys!” they chorused.

“Seven blessing, your Graces!”

“King Jon!”

_They loved their King and Queen._

Daenerys felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she raised her hand to wave to the people, a smile spreading over her face. When she did, the people cheered louder, waving. Then she heard a familiar screech in the skies that brought fear amongst others but for her, it only brought her relief. She looked up to see Drogon approaching in a distance. She had not called him but apparently, he would accompany his Mother this day. She watched the people stop cheering as Drogon came into view, circling overhead. Some had looks of fear on their faces but most were looking up in awe and wonder. None of them ran. All of them seemed to notice the difference in Drogon’s behaviour now, no longer in a constant state of rage.

Then Daenerys and Jon walked down the steps of the Red Keep, Daenerys holding Jaehaerys’ hand in hers. Ser Jorah opened the carriage door and offered his hand. She smiled at him, taking it as she stepped in after Jaehaerys. She glimpsed Jon mounting his black steed. And they proceeded to the tourney. Above, she could still hear the beats of Drogon’s wings. Outside her carriage, she could see the people lining the streets, crying out her name and the King’s. She pulled open the screen and smiled at the people outside, waving once in a while.

Jaehaerys, who sat beside her, then proceeded to crawl into her lap, peering out the window as well.

“ _Muña_ ,” Jaehaerys looked up at her.

“ _kessa, ñuha riña_?” Daenerys smiled at him.

“These are _all_ our people?” Jaehaerys’ eyes grew wide as he looked out the carriage.

Daenerys nodded, realising that Jaehaerys had never seen so many people in one place in his life and she frowned at the thought that Jaehaerys had probably never left the Red Keep before now, “yes, and they will be _your_ people one day. They will come to depend on you and they will love you as their King,”

“I will be a good King,” Jaehaerys declared.

Daenerys palmed the back of his head gently. She hesitated as something came to mind but she knew no matter how much she wanted to protect her son, he had to know eventually, “Jaehaerys, as a King, you may have to make many sacrifices,” Jaehaerys looked at her, a furrow between his brows, “there might be some things in your life that you really want but because you are King, you might not be able to have those things,”

“Why?”

Daenerys swallowed, “because sometimes, what you want is not really what is right or what the realm needs from its King,” she took his little hand in hers, “do you understand?”

Jaehaerys nodded, “I must do what is right and do what is good for the people,” she raised her brows in surprise, “Father always said that,” Daenerys smiled, nodding her approval and Jaehaerys smiled, pleased.

She knew Jon would not want to force Jaehaerys to do anything and he had said he would convince Arianne Martell otherwise. But Daenerys herself had married for an alliance, twice. She knew Jaehaerys would probably marry for alliance one day, if not because his parents willed it, it would be on his own accord; for the betterment of the realm. Daenerys could only pray that the one he was to marry would also be the one he loved; as Jon and her, “you are the blood of the dragon. You would have to, and you will, be strong, brave, wise and kind. There will be times when things seem difficult, when you have an impossible choice to make. But deep in your heart, you will know what is right, and you will do just that,” she kissed his temple.

_Jaehaerys has always been his Father’s son, as Jon has been Ned Stark’s son._

Jaehaerys looked up at her, a solemn look in his eyes, almost brooding like Jon’s, “Mother, how you are always so brave?”

She blinked at him, surprised.

“Father always said you are the strongest person he knows,” Jaehaerys’ eyes lit up then, a hint of pride and admiration.

Daenerys let out a shaky breath, her lips curved into a smile, in disbelief and amusement, “Kings and Queens are here protect the ones who can’t protect themselves. We have to be strong. When you are King, you will find the strength to do what you must, to be brave, from within. Remember who you are, Jaehaerys,”

He nodded solemnly. Then he turned out of the window, waving to the people who were waving as they passed.

Daenerys gazed at her son then, feeling her heart rent. She had loved Jaehaerys with all her heart the moment she knew he was growing within her. Daenerys remembered the nights she had spent caressing the swell of her abdomen and dreaming of how her baby would look. Jon’s avoidance of her and absence had left her cold but the thought and feel of their son had warmed her and given her comfort like nothing else could. Now, she caressed his hand that was still in hers, her thumb trailing over his little fingers gently.

Jaehaerys suddenly looked up at her from her lap, “ _Avy jorrāelan, Muña_ (I love you, Mother),”

“ _Avy jorrāelan tolī, Jaehaerys_ , (I love you too, Jaehaerys),” she gently held his small body to hers, “ _Kesan va moriot jorrāelagon ao_ (I will always love you),”

Then the carriage had stopped and Daenerys looked out to realise they were at the tourney. The doors opened and Daenerys stepped out, taking Jorah’s offered hand, her other hand holding Jaehaerys’.

The people in the stands, Lords and Ladies of the Noble Houses, were on their feet for the King and Queen. Daenerys caught Sansa and Arya’s eye, seated beside the platform where she would be sitting with Jaehaerys, and she smiled, nodding to them. Behind her, stood all the common people. They were all crying out for the King and Queen, cheering and waving. Daenerys smiled to them, waving. Then Jon came to her side and they walked to the stands together, Jaehaerys’ hand still in hers.

As they settled into their seats, Jaehaerys’ seat just one step lower beside hers, the crowd sat. She did not see the signal but then two knights rode before them and removed their helms, bowing. Jon nodded and gestured for them to rise. Then the knights rode to their respective sides.

“Have you been to a tourney, your Grace?” Arya leaned over, asking softly.

Daenerys turned to her, smiling, “no,”

Arya grinned then, “it would be exciting,” Jaehaerys turned and nodded, grinning, “I wanted to compete but Sansa said I shouldn’t,”

Daenerys made to reply but then the crowd clapped and cheered. Daenerys turned to see the knights, now wielding lances and shields, charging towards the other. Then one’s lance struck the other’s shoulder, the lance shattering in a shower of splinter, and the knight fell off his horse, hitting the ground hard. She smiled, clapping as the victor rode before the King and Queen and bowed.

“Mother, did you see?” Jaehaerys shot to his feet, clapping. He went to her, his eyes were wide with awe. It was as much his first time to a tourney as it was hers. Daenerys nodded to her son, smiling and he grinned, going to his Aunts.

Daenerys sat beside the Jon throughout the joust but they did not speak more than in glances and looks exchanged. They spent most of their time watching the knights joust, clapping appropriately along with the crowd for the victor. Then two knights rode before them again. One wore dark black armour, the one wore gold. She did not recognise the face of the one in black armour. She tensed as the golden helm was removed to reveal a head of golden hair and a familiar face. Too familiar and a face she did not wished to see this day.

She could feel Jon’s eyes on her. Both knights were bowed on their horses. Daenerys knew she could order to have him removed from her sight. She was mildly aware of her hands clasped together in her lap so tightly her fingers were beginning to ache. She unclasped them then, ready to gesture for the guards to remove him.

Then Jaehaerys turned from his conversation with Arya. He shot up from his seat beside her on the bench, clapping as he cheered, “Uncle Jaime!”

Daenerys tensed. She glanced at him. Jaehaerys’ face was flushed from the heat and from constantly running between Arya and his mother. There was a wide grin on his face; which she knew would surely disappear if she were to order the knight removed. She looked at both knights, her eyes locking momentarily with piercing green ones. She nodded stiffly and the black knight wore his helm, riding off to the side.

She then turned to Jaehaerys, calling him over. At the corner of her eyes, she glimpsed the golden knight wearing his helm and riding off, “who told you you should call him Uncle, Jaehaerys?”

Jaehaerys shrugged, “no one. But Uncle Jaime always said I should not call him ‘Ser’ and he is not a knight but he _is_ ,” he frowned in confusion, “so I call him uncle instead,”

“You will call him by his name only. He is not your uncle,” Daenerys told him sternly and Jaehaerys hesitated, nodding. And he returned to his seat, puzzled. Daenerys knew Jaime taught Jaehaerys’ to fight in the yard but she had not known Jaehaerys was fond of him. She was beginning to wonder if there was even someone her sweet boy was not fond of or someone who was not equally fond of him.

She then caught Jon rise from his seat out of the corner of her eye. She turned to him. _The melee._ She felt an uncomfortable feeling wedge in her chest and refused to be soothed, even when Jon nodded to her, slipping her a small assuring smile. Daenerys forced herself to nod and he left, without a touch or any words. They were King and Queen here; there was no place for loving words or warm touches.

She knew Jon was a great warrior and had read that only blunted swords were used in Tourneys but she also knew deaths, although rare, were not unheard of. And in a country with people she barely knew, even if they were her people, she did not trust them with her King’s life.

Daenerys blinked as the black knight was unhorsed, landing hard on his back. But then the black horse ran and the black knight was dragged across the ground, his ankle still tangled in the stirrup. She rose, worried. It would take but a misstep for his horse to trample on his skull and kill him, if he did not break his neck while being dragged. Then the golden knight rode passed her and caught up to the frantic horse, grabbing its reins with his left, and only, hand. The horse stopped and the crowd cheered for the golden knight.

Daenerys sat back down as the golden knight urged his horse around to ride before the Queen. Removing his helm, he bowed, a victor. Daenerys stared at him for a moment, aware of the cheers for him and eventually, she clapped.

 

**_Jon_ **

He glanced down at the ring on his finger fondly as he took the blunted sword Ser Rodrik offered to him.

Jon knew it was almost unheard of for Kings to participate in the tourneys for the men would not dare to harm their King but he felt he should partake. But if he was being truthful, he had always dreamt of participating in a tourney and earning a name for himself. Although there was evidently no need for him to attempt to earn a name for himself any longer, Jon would enjoy participating nonetheless.

He looked up and nodded to the men around him, they were of his Kingsguard and they would be riding with him in the melee. Jon had no doubt it would be a memorable fight, his first alongside the men that he kept so close day and night.

“Your Grace?” Jon turned to see Ser Ned Cerwyn offering him a helm.

Jon smiled, shaking his head, politely rejecting it, “I would rather go without it Ned, it narrows the vision and slows me down,” in the Night’s Watch, they did not have helmets and so, Jon was no accustomed to fight with them.

Soon, it was time for the melee.

Jon mounted his black horse and rode ahead. As he emerged from between the stands, the crowd cheered for their King. He glanced to the stands to see Daenerys and Jaehaerys clapping, the latter on his feet. He spurred his horse to the middle where an arena was set up for the melee. He glanced down at the ring on his finger and subtly brought it to his lips. Then he drew his blunted sword, watching his opponents enter the arena, all armoured with helms over their faces. At his side, his Kingsguard wore their helm and drew their swords.

When they were all in position, they looked to the Queen. Daenerys was looking right at him. He inclined his chin just slightly and he watched her square her shoulders and clapped once. Jon spurred his horse forward. He glimpsed one rider swinging his sword at him and Jon ducked low on his horse, dodging the sword. Bringing up his own to strike the rider behind him who did not see Jon till he was struck. The rider fell heavily from the horse, on his head and he did not move.

Jon urged his horse around, bringing his sword up to meet another. Jon glimpsed the eyes of the rider momentarily before he pushed his opponent away from the deadlock and their swords met in a flurry of blows. The rider swung high, aiming for Jon’s head. He ducked. As the rider missed, Jon saw his opportunity, rapping the rider over the back of his shoulder hard with his sword. The rider cried out and fell forward and off his horse.

Then at the corner of his eye, he saw a fast approaching rider, the sword aimed straight at him, gleaming in the sunlight and it was sharper than it should be.

 

**_Daenerys_ **

Daenerys could not hide her smile of pride when Jon knocked another rider over with a well-aimed strike. Jon was a clever, fast and honourable fighter. He did not use brute strength like Drogo did or resort to tricks like Daario. He merely watched and waited for his opportunity to strike, all the while holding his own against the opponent’s swings and jabs.

Then her heart seemed to stop in her chest as a rider rode for him. Jon had his back to him. The rider held the sword at point end to Jon. Daenerys stood. _Jon!_

He turned his head but it was too late to turn his horse around. Jon spurred his horse and the beast stepped to the side, whinnying in protest and the sword missed his shoulder, just so. Then the rider skilfully twisted his sword and he swung the sword horizontally towards the King’s neck. Jon brought his sword up, locking the rider’s sword at the hilt. Then Jon shoved the rider, hard, with his shoulder. The rider seem to panic then as he begun to lose his balance.

The rider’s horse side stepped into Jon’s horse and the black horse jerked in alarm.

Both of them fell off their horse, tumbling over the other in a tangle of limbs. Jon emerged atop the rider. He got to his feet and instantly brought his sword over him but the rider was quick. He parried Jon’s strike and nimbly rolled to the side, getting to his feet. Jon held his sword ready. The two circled each other, both eyes trained on the other. Then the rider lunged, jabbing his sword at Jon. Jon parried it away quickly, meeting the rider’s every strike.

Daenerys could see that this knight was very skilled. He was fast and his strike was sure and strong. With every step Jon took back, the knight took two steps forward, relentless in his attack. Daenerys took a step forward on the platform. _I will interfere if things go too far._ She had said to Jon and she had meant it. But as she watched Jon, she knew this was Jon’s fight. And she would trust him.

Then the knight took a swing and Jon stepped to the side nimbly. The knight faltered just slightly with the momentum that he brought with the swing and Jon took the opportunity, shouldering the knight roughly. The knight flailed backwards. The knight may be agile and quick but he was evidently not strong. Jon then brought his sword forward. The knight met his blow mid stumble and just barely. The force of Jon’s sword disarmed the knight.

Then knight made to lunge for his sword on the ground but Jon pressed his sword to his neck quickly before he could move.

The crowd cheered. Daenerys then released the breath she had been holding.

“Do you yield?” Jon asked.

The knight reached up for his helm, “I yield, my King,” the helm was removed and luscious long black hair fell from it. The crowd gasped in surprise and the knight lowered the helm to reveal the face of Arianne Martell. She was smirking at the King.

“L-Lady Martell,” Jon blinked, lowering his sword. Then when Jon got over his surprise, he glanced to the sword on the ground, “that wasn’t a blunt sword,” he stated.

Arianne Martell smirked, “no, it wasn’t. Martells do not fight with blunt or wooden swords,”

Jon glared at her. Then he said, ever respectful, honourable, “I apologise if I have offended my Lady,” Jon nodded to their horses and to the spot they had taken a tumble and he had emerged laying over her.

She gazed intensely at him, her smirk never faltering, “the honour was all mine, my King,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments last chapter! An early update and hopefully I can keep this up (a christmas present for all my lovely readers if you will). 
> 
> And apologies in advance if the fight was difficult to read and follow/ cringeworthy... I'm not really good with those.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Daenerys_ **

She smiled as the performers blew at the torch in front of them, causing the flame to pour forth like that of a dragon’s. The crowd gasped and clapped, cheering. As the performers bowed, Daenerys stood, as she had with the previous troupe of performers and the troupe before that. A man, the leader of this troupe, approached, his head bowed. Daenerys smiled as she handed him a purse of gold dragons for his performance, “thank you, it was a beautiful performance,” she said softly, her words for his ears only.

“We thank you, Queen Daenerys and King Jon,” he bowed low. Then the troupe of performers behind him bowed, “Seven blessings your Graces,” they cried and retreated from the stage.

When she retook her seat, she startled as she felt a hand on hers, in her lap. She glanced to her side to see the King still looking forward, his face unchanging but for the slight twitch at the corner of his lip; that only she could see. She pursed her lips to stop her smile as he laced his fingers with hers gently, his thumb stroking her hand. She looked forward but she was not seeing, transfixed by the way his calloused right hand felt. His right hand was badly scarred from being burned a long time ago and Daenerys had come to love the feel of it; in her hand and over her skin.

Then drums brought Daenerys’ attention back to the feast but she was pleased Jon did not withdraw, his hand still firmly clasping hers. They had spent the whole day in front of their people, only retreating to their chambers to change for the feast. Jon had exchanged his leather armour for a kingly maroon robe and Daenerys had changed to a red dress, one that covered more of her than any of her Essosi dress. Even in their chambers then, her handmaidens and his squires were around, assisting them. They have not touched till now and she had missed her husband.

She glanced to her right to see Jaehaerys ducking under the table, a piece of chicken in his hand. Daenerys pressed her lips together against the smile of amusement. She had told Jaehaerys not to feed Suvion from his own plate but it had instead resulted in Jaehaerys trying, and failing, to hide his attempts from his mother.  

She reached for him with her free hand and he jumped, turning to her. Daenerys shot him a knowing and reproachful look and Jaehaerys hung his head, turning back to his plate sadly but she knew he would be back to feeding Suvion soon.

“My Queen,” Jon muttered and Daenerys looked up to see foreign men clad in familiar robes approaching. The Unsullied stationed beside their tables pointed their spears forward. Behind them, Daenerys could hear the Kingsguard and Queensguard members stiffened, their armours clinking softly as they shifted to place a gloved hand on their sword. Daenerys and Jon had agreed to allow anyone to come forth to enjoy the feast and so, anyone was allowed to approach the King and the Queen to request an audience.

“ _Mhysa_ ,” the foreign men stopped before her, bowing.   

Daenerys nodded, “ _jiōrnon_ _. skoros maghagon ao kesīr?_ (welcome. What brings all of you here?)”

“ _emi Mhysa māzigon naejot biarvī manaeragon se rytsa_ (we have come to celebrate the health of our Queen),” a man spoke, bowing low, “ _se naejot rudhy īlva arlie jentys, sytiderēbagon ondoso se Issarori_ (and to present our new leader, chosen by the people),” the man stepped to the side, bowing. Daenerys straightened, curious to meet the leader chosen.  

A young lady stepped forward. She was dressed in leather armour, not unlike the one Daario used to wear. At her hip, she carried a sword. She bowed low, her hair pulled back in a bun, “ _Mhysa_ ,” she greeted, her voice full of reverence.

“ _Sīmonagon. skoros iksis aōha brōzi_ , (Rise. Tell me your name),” Daenerys said, leaning forward.

She straightened and looked to Daenerys with dark eyes, “ _bisy brōzi rizmon iksis_ , (this one’s name is Rizmon),” she continued, “ _bisy iksin konīr skori Daenērys Jelmāzmo dāez īlva. Eman daor nārhēdegon._ _se kesan dōrī. Ēva ñuha mōrī jelevre, Kesan gīmigon skoros Daenērys Jelmāzmo ēza gaomagon syt se buzdari_ (this one was there when Daenerys Stormborn freed us. I have not forgotten and I will never. Until my last breath, I will remember what Daenerys Stormborn has done for the slave),”

Daenerys could feel Jon’s eyes on her as she stood, letting go of his hand, “ _Dāerves jevys tepagon yne sytilībos daor_ _. ao ivīlībagon ziry, se sir bona_ _dāerves iksis aōhon se emilā naejot gaomagon ziry_ (your freedom is not mine to give. You fought for it and now that freedom is yours and you have to keep it),”

“ _Mhysa,_ _kesi rūnagon_ (Mother, we will remember),” she bowed.

Daenerys smiled, “ _iksis konīr lyks rȳ Mīrīn?_ (Is there peace at Meereen)?”

Rizmon nodded, “ _mirre iksis sȳrī, Mhysa_ (all is well),”

“ _skoros hen Dārio Naharis_ (what of Daario Naharis)?” Daenerys asked, surprised Daario had not joined the expedition to Westeros. From her understanding of him, she thought he would not have passed up on an excuse to come to Westeros after she had left him there against his will.

Rizmon paused, hesitating. Daenerys could have sworn she saw her eyes well up but before she could confirm, Rizmon bowed, “ _Dārio naharis iksis morghe, Mhysa_ (Daario Naharis is dead),”

Daenerys froze. She might not have cared for him as much as she thought she did but he was a friend, “ _skoros massitas_ (what happened)?” she asked.

“ _īles ossēntan isse iā vīlībagon mōrī hūra. Se vala qilōni ossēntan zirȳla iksis morghe_ (he was killed in a fight a moon ago. The man who killed him is dead),”

“ _skoro syt iksin konīr iā vīlībagon_ (why was there a fight)?” Daenerys demanded.

“ _se Issarori bēsīmonagon lēda iā dorolvie vēttir īlon rēbagon_ (the people were angry at a few of the laws we passed),” Rizmon paused, “ _Dārio iksin sylugon naejot keligon zirȳ_ (Daario was trying to stop them),”

Daenerys nodded, feeling a wave of nausea, threatening to have her throw up. She swallowed but it did little to make it better, “ _se Tȳni Trēsi_ (and the Second sons)?”

“ _ēzi sytiderēbagon iā arlie jentys se issi pazavor_ (they have chosen a new leader and are loyal),” Rizmon assured. Daenerys nodded, forcing a smile, “ _īlon maghatan iā irudy syt se dārilaros_ (we brought a gift for the Prince),” Rizmon said and with that, she bowed to Jaehaerys.

Jaehaerys shot up, a grin on his face, “ _drējī_? (truly?)”

Rizmon nodded respectfully. She gestured to the men behind her. The men came forward then, carrying a large box between them. They placed the box before the royal table and stepped back, “ _Mhysa_ ,” they bowed low.

“ _sīmonagon_ (rise),” she said and they straightened. Then she turned to Jaehaerys. He was practically bouncing in excitement, glancing between his mother and the box. She nodded.

Jaehaerys grinned, running from the high table and he stood before the box. Behind him, his Kingsguards followed closely.

Daenerys watched as Jaehaerys knelt before the box, reaching for it.

“My Prince,” they turned to Ser Jorah, who stood behind Daenerys, “let me open it,”

He looked to Daenerys and she nodded. Jaehaerys pouted but at Daenerys’ nod, he stepped back. Jorah descended from the high table and stood before the box, the Prince stepping back till he was behind Jorah and between his Kingsguards. Jorah opened the box slowly then he stepped to the side, nodding to Daenerys. She could not see what was in the box.

Jaehaerys then reached into the box and drew out something too familiar to Daenerys. She unwittingly took a step forward. Jaehaerys turned to her, now cradling the gift in his arms; the stone was scaled as she remembered but it was unlike the three she had. This one was deep red flecked with pale cream, almost silver as it caught the firelight.

“ _skoriot gōntan ao jiōragon bisa_ (where did you find this)?,” she stared.

“ _īlon sindita ziry hen iā lōgor_ (we bought it from a ship’s captain),” Rizmon replied, “ _pōnta gōntan daor gīmigon skoros īles,_ _pōnta pendagon ziry iā dōron_ (they did not know what it was, they think it a stone),”

Daenerys blinked.

“ _skoros iksis ziry?_ (what is it?)” Jaehaerys asked, staring at it.

Daenerys gestured him closer and Jaehaerys rose the steps, clutching the stone in his arms. Daenerys reached forward, her hand shaking just slightly. As her fingers touched it, she was relieved to feel that it was warm, “ _zaldrīzes drōmon, Jaehaerys_ (dragon egg, Jaehaerys),” she said softly.

Jaehaerys’ eyes widened and he looked down at the thing in his arms.

“And it is yours,”

“Truly?” Jaehaerys looked up. Daenerys nodded and Jaehaerys beamed, hugging the egg to him, “when will it hatch?”

Jon stood. Daenerys turned to him and his eyes were wide with realisation as he looked at the stone in Jaehaerys’ arm. She watched as Jon reached over the table and placed his hand where Daenerys’ hand had been, “It’s warm,” he looked up, in awe.

Daenerys was surprised. _Dragon’s blood. It takes a dragon to know one. Truly._ “it is,” she smiled.

Jaehaerys turned then, “ _ñuha trūmāje kirimvose_ , (my deepest thanks),” Daenerys felt pride swell in her chest.

Rizmon seemed taken aback, slightly horrified as she dipped into a low bow, “ _se rigle iksis ñuhon ñuha dārilaros_ (the honour is all mine, My Prince),” Jaehaerys inclined his chin before he walked up to the high table and sat in his chair, the dragon egg still in his arms. He gazed at it with an intensity, seeming to be memorising the scaled pattern of it.

Then the Meereeneese were given a table at the feast, invited to stay and enjoy the Tourney till it was over.

Then as they settled into their seat again, Jon turned to her and Daenerys caught his eye. _It’s time to tell the people_. She nodded, taking his hand from his lap and squeezing it.

Jon smiled slightly before he stood. The crowd fell silent as their King rose, all their attention on the King.

“We thank you for your presence and your generous gifts this night. As you all know, we are here to celebrate the recovery of the Queen,” Jon paused, looking to the Queen gently. She smiled at him.

“Long live the King and Queen!” Someone shouted from the crowd and the rest of the crowd nodded, calling their agreement.

Jon smiled, nodding in thanks to the man, “With the Queen’s recovery, we have decided to rule as equals, as King and Queen of Westeros. But before that, I think you deserve to know the truth, about the King who will rule. Many of you would know me as Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard but that is not who I am,” he paused.

Murmurs begin to rise from the crowd. Daenerys looked at Jon, he was staring into the crowd, his lips pressed thin under his moustache. Quietly, she reached over and slipped her hand into his, their interlocked hands hidden behind the table and away from the sight from everyone but their guards. Jon’s eyes glanced to her and she felt his hand tightened around hers.

Then he looked up, “I am Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark,”

The murmurs grew louder and now accompanied by frowns.

Daenerys stood then and the crowd fell silent, “it is by confirmation of the Maesters at the citadel that the High Septon has wedded my brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. The King is the rightful heir,”

The murmurs stopped then and there were only stares, of shock and surprise.

Jon tensed beside her as they waited.

“House Stark has swore fealty to the Crown,” Sansa stood, “and on my honour as a Stark, we will keep that vow, no matter if our King’s name is Snow, or Stark, or Targaryen. House Stark will stand with the King and Queen,”

“This changes nothing for the Ironborn as well, your Graces,” they turned to see Yara standing from her seat, “the Iron Island will not know another King or Queen than that of House Targaryen. We have swore an oath and the ironborn will keep our word,”

Jon nodded to them both stiffly.

“The Stormlands is with you, King Aegon,” Gendry said, his voice firm.

Beside them, Tyrion stood, “long may they reign,” he raised his cup.

Then all the lords and ladies stood, raising their cups as well, “Long may they reign,” they chorused. Daenerys and Jon had not miss that Arianne Martell had stood but no words came forth from her.

Jon squeezed her hand and Daenerys nodded to him, “thank you my Lords and Ladies for your faith and loyalty. We have suffered the War long enough and now, winter has gone and summer is here once again. We have had four years to recover what we have lost in the War in a time of peace. And in our reign, the peace _will_ continue,”

Then the common people shouted from the back, “long live the King and Queen!”

 

**_Jon_ **

The feast had continued with endless platters of food that Daenerys made sure were served to the peasants who came as well and that the leftovers would provide for the peasants who were celebrating the heath of their Queen beyond the walls of the Red Keep and in the city; not allowed to enter the feast to prevent the Red Keep from being overly crowded.

He looked down to seSe their intertwined hands. Jon knew it was not kingly of him and not queenly of Daenerys for them to have their hands clasped together as they sat as King and Queen for this feast. But it was only so much Jon could take, to be away from his Queen; to see her but not be able to touch her, to look at her but not be able to tell her how much he loved her. And Daenerys had felt the same. He could feel it in the way she had slipped her hand eagerly into his, after his speech. He could see it in the way her eyes sought him out almost as often as his sought her.

Then music was played by the performance and with the rich wine flowing, the noble lords has begun to ask the nobles ladies to dance. Jon glanced to Daenerys to see her watching the lords and ladies dance. Her lips were curved into a sweet smile that Jon rarely saw on her outside of their private chambers, especially in situations like these, when she was in front of her people. More and more lords and ladies are partaking in the dance. Sansa was there, with Willas Tyrell. Even Arya, with the Lord of Storm’s End, Gendry Baratheon.

As he glanced down at their hands, Jon stood; throwing the rest of what was left of formality that they still kept this night, to the wind. Daenerys turned to him instantly, curious. He bowed, bringing her hand up to his lips, “my Queen,” he said against her hand, “would you do me the honour of a dance?”

Daenerys stared at him.

He had not expected that she would need some convincing but Jon was not fazed. He smiled, “as King and Queen, it would be unbecoming if we do not partake in the customs of our people; what our people enjoy doing,” Jon said, gesturing to the smiling lords and ladies as they danced.

Daenerys glanced over before she said quietly, “I-I don’t know how,” her words were barely audible, drowned out even by the soft melody. He paused, surprised but on further thought, Jon felt he should have known. _Who would be there to teach her, an exiled princess?_ It was already a miracle she knew her mother tongue and the songs and histories of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon smiled warmly, “I will guide you,” he promised, looking at her solemnly, “trust me.”

Daenerys held his gaze for a moment before she nodded eventually. Jon straightened from his bow, guiding his Queen to stand. For a moment, Jon stared at the dress she had on. This was another Westerosi dress and it hugged her body snugly, the fabric brushing the carpet as she walked. He blinked when she approached and stood before him, too close. He stared at her, “I thought we were going to dance,” she said, a small smirk on her lips.

Jon nodded, her hand in his, and he turned. When he heard the clank of the armour of their guards, he raised a hand to stop them. Then they descended from the high table. They joined the noble lords and ladies then, merging with the crowd. Once they were in the middle of dancing couples, Jon stopped and turned to Daenerys. She was glancing at the lords and ladies around them. When she realised he had stopped and turned to her, she looked up at him.

He smiled, “may I?”

“You don’t have to ask, Jon,” Daenerys told him softly. He felt confidence fill him at her words.

Jon placed a hand on her lower back, adjusting their hands for a dance, “I know,” the hand on her back pressed her close to him so suddenly that her eyes widened, just slightly, in surprise. He inhaled sharply as he felt the intense warmth of her body against his, “but it’s customary,” he replied thickly. They were so close, he could feel her hot breath from her lips on his neck. He gazed down at her as she looked up at him. His eyes darted down to her lips but Jon knew they couldn’t.

So instead, he gently began to move his feet. Daenerys frowned and she made to look at her feet.

“Relax,” he said softly, “let my body guide yours and your feet will follow,”

Daenerys looked at him, unconvinced and her brows were slightly furrowed in worry.

“Truthfully, I am a terrible dancer,” Jon whispered and watched satisfied as the furrow between her brows faded away.

“Didn’t you learn it at Winterfell?” she asked, curiously. 

“I did,” he replied, “I attended all the lessons the Stark children did. But I never dared to show much interest in it, never dared to let myself hope. Who would want to dance with me, a Bastard?”

Daenerys shook her head, smiling, “I would. I am,”

Jon chuckled, “of course you would,” he ached to press gentle kisses to her sweet face but he restrained himself, “but nonetheless, I wanted to have a lady in my arms at a feast, eventually, however it was to happen. So I told Robb I wasn’t interested and it was boring but I secretly learned, watching them,” he smiled at the memory of Robb dancing with Sansa, the latter snapping when Robb would step on her toes.

Daenerys smiled, “and now you’re dancing, at a feast-“

“With a Queen in my arms,” he whispered.

She gazed up at him, “ _your_ Queen,” _my wife._ His middle warmed pleasantly at her words.

“See? You’re dancing,” he glanced down at their feet and Daenerys did too, surprised. Then he felt Daenerys relax in his arms, her eyes transfixed on his. In the candlelight, the gold around her irises were now distinct against the lilac, like fire and Jon lost himself in them.

“Jon, I-,” Daenerys started but then she paused as the music stopped and she blinked, glancing around them. The lords stepped back, kissing their ladies’ hand as they ended the dance.

Jon raised a questioning brow and Daenerys merely shook her head dismissively. Jon mocked a frown at her before he could not help but smile as he looked upon her face. Then he stepped back, already missing her heat. He bowed and kissed her hand, letting his lips linger before he straightened, letting go of her hand reluctantly. To his surprise, Daenerys dipped in a perfect curtsy. He grinned as he came closer to her side, offering his arm to escort her back to the table, “where did you learn that?”

She placed her hand on his arm, “I made Sansa teach it to me,”

Jon raised his brows. Daenerys had spent some time with his sisters since they have arrived in King’s Landing but Jon thought they were just talking and he would never think Daenerys would want to learn a curtsy; to be a lady. She was Queen now and she had no need for such lady-like etiquette, “why?” he asked.

Daenerys turned to him then, looking straight at him, strangely sombre. Then she smiled, shaking her head, “I just wanted to learn,” she said simply but Jon could tell there was something she was not telling him. He would let her keep her little secret, for now. She smiled at him appreciatively as he guided her into her chair.

“Do you like dancing?” Jon asked as he bent over to kiss her hand.

She nodded, “with you,”

Jon smiled, “we could dance every day in our chambers you know,”

Daenerys chuckled, “that would be ridiculous,”

“No it would not,” Jon objected.

“ _Muña_ ,” they both turned to see Jaehaerys approach them, his white direwolf close on his heel and behind them, two Kingsguards followed.

“Jaehaerys, where did you go?” Daenerys asked, opening her arm just as Jaehaerys tucked himself against her side, standing beside her chair.

“I was talking with Arya,” Jaehaerys said.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Jaehaerys?” Daenerys brushed aside his hair from his forehead.

Jaehaerys grinned, “yes but…” he paused, smiling to himself.

Daenerys raised a brow, “but?”

“Can I dance with you, _Muña_?” Jaehaerys looked up, grinning.

Jon smiled, “that’s not how you ask a lady to dance, Jaehaerys. Much less a Queen,”

Jaehaerys looked up at Jon, frowning, “how do I ask, Father?”

Jon stood beside Jaehaerys and he smiled as Jaehaerys squared his shoulders, imitating him, “so you approach the lady you want to dance with,” Jon took a small step to Daenerys, aware she was watching them, an amused smile on her lips. Jaehaerys mirrored, “then you offer your hand,” Jon turned from Jaehaerys to look at Daenerys. He extended a hand, palm up, slightly bowed so he could look her in the eye, “my Queen,” Daenerys smiled a smile that reached her eyes, “may I have the honour of a dance?”

She glanced at his hand, placing her hand in his and Jon gently closed his fingers around hers, his thumb caressing her across her knuckles. She did not break her gaze from him and he found he could not look away.

“My turn!” Jaehaerys said loudly. Daenerys blinked and her hand slipped from his. Then she turned away from him and to Jaehaerys. Jon raised a brow as he spotted a faint blush on her cheeks but he straightened nonetheless, to watch Jaehaerys. He chuckled as Jaehaerys squared his shoulders, no doubt trying to make himself look larger than he really was. Then he took two small deliberate steps, approaching Daenerys. He offered a hand as he saw Jon did, “may I have the honour…of a dance?” Jaehaerys asked, hesitantly.

Daenerys smiled, “of course, my Prince,” she placed her hand in his and stood. Jaehaerys grinned, holding her hand. He turned to Jon.

“Go on then,” Jon nodded and Jaehaerys beamed, almost running. Jon walked with them till he stood in front of the high table, at the top of the steps. Daenerys glanced at him before she descended the steps. Jaehaerys bounded towards the dance, almost bursting with excitement. Then they disappeared into the crowd of dancing couples.

“Your Grace,” Jon turned to see Arianne Martell approaching the high table. She was wearing a tight yellow dress which left her midriff bare and hung low over her chest, “you have proven yourself a great warrior today at the melee,” she bowed and the dress dipped lower to bare the expanse of her cleavage and a glimpse of her heavy breasts to him.

Jon averted his eyes respectfully till she straightened, “Lady Martell speaks kindly,” Jon replied, “you have fought well. It is impressive,” she dipped her head at his reply, a smirk on her face.

“May I approach, your Grace?” her eyes darted over the steps. Jon paused, considering her. He did mean to talk to her, regarding betrothal. Jon nodded. Arianne Martell rose the steps slowly and stood beside him. There was a sweet scent about her that filled his nostrils as she neared but Jon found his eyes searching the crowd for Daenerys and Jaehaerys.

“You are in love with your Queen,” Jon turned to her, “that is more than I can say for your father,”

Jon glared at her. He knew she spoke of Rhaegar and his Queen, Elia Martell; if Rhaegar had been King, “he loved who he loved,” he replied simply, “what of it?”

She shrugged, raising a slim sculptured brow, “I am merely surprised; to see that you love the Queen. And she, you,”

Jon felt his hand close into a fist; feeling a strange urge to selfishly protect their love from anyone, especially Arianne Martell, “what does it matter to you?” he regarded her cautiously.

She looked nonchalant as she said, “I had thought it was lust,” she leant in just slightly and whispered, “with the Queen looking like she does and the way men devour her with their eyes,” Jon tensed as she leaned ever closer, her breath on his ear, “but I don’t blame them. Not every man gets to ride a dragon every night,”

Jon turned to her, in anger and some disbelief at her insolence, “mind your words. _She is your Queen_ ,” Jon seethed.

Arianne Martell smirked, “and Kings and Queens fuck as everyone else does,” he stared vacantly at her. She regarded him with narrowed eyes then, “you do not like my terms of betrothal,” she stated.

Jon’s stomach was a pit of fire by this point and Jon knew if not for the peace of the realm and for Jaehaerys, he would forget diplomacy and dismiss her immediately, “no, I don’t,” he said blankly instead.

Arianne Martell seem to pause then, caught by his candour. Then she smiled, “then if I may suggest another alternative,” Jon nodded stiffly, surprised. She turned to stand before him, her back to the feast. Then he felt her hand on his abdomen, just barely. He instantly took a step back, hearing the Kingsguards take a step forward, their hands reaching for their swords. Jon raised a hand and they paused. She glanced to them, then looked to him, “as you have noticed and said, I am unmarried,” at first Jon was confused, then at her meaningfully sultry look at him. He was aghast.

“I already have a Queen,” he snapped, “ _your_ Queen,”

She seemed nonchalant as she shrugged, “Aegon the Conqueror had two sister wives while Dorne remains a free Kingdom. Now, Aegon Targaryen can have two Queens _and_ Dorne,”

“No,” he shook his head, staring at her, still in disbelief at her proposal, “that will never happen,”

Arianne Martell raised a well-sculptured brow and she held his glare with a calm, measured expression. Then she said, “there isn’t a man in all the world who has not wanted me,” she seemed more intrigued than affronted, “but it only seems I have, before now, yet to meet such a man,” she held his gaze as she stated, “you do not want me,” Jon tasted bile in his mouth as it occurred to him she might have been only testing the waters when she made that proposal. She smirked then, “but you will. All men do. Just always not in the close presence of their wife,” she glanced back to the feast.

“You disgrace yourself, Lady Martell,” Jon seethed and her smirk faded, “I could have you executed for what you did in the melee today. And I could have your hand removed for touching a King without leave.”

Her eyes gleamed then, “is that a threat?” she hissed and smirked, “or a challenge?”

“Neither,” Jon replied evenly.

She gazed at him, studying him as she said, “you will give me your leave eventually. You may even beg me for it,” Jon felt revulsion rise in his throat.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to dissipate the red he saw, “Lady Martell,” he said, as calm as he could be, “I will not dishonour the Queen. For the sake of Dorne, I urge you to reconsider your terms for your allegiance. And I want you to know that the terms are allowed as a courtesy the Queen and I are extending to the Martells; on the account of the allegiance that Ellaria Sand has sworn in support of the Queen’s claim to the throne before, nothing more,”

She scoffed, taking a step towards him, “I do enjoy the honestly of Northerners, it is refreshing; especially from a dragon raised by wolves,” Jon stayed silent and she continued, “my Myriah is a beauty and intelligent. She would not be beneath the Prince. As I am not beneath my King,” she lowered her voice, leaning closer, “underneath all the names of nobles houses, we are all man and woman; flesh made by the Gods for pleasure,”

Jon tensed, aware of her tantalisingly sultry voice. Then he leaned away, stepping back. She was smirking at him but he ignored it, “we will accept your terms and betrothal of the Prince to your daughter,” he said, “but in return, Myriah will be fostered at King’s Landing, until she is flowered and to be wedded to the Prince,”

She baulked, “you want me to allow you to raise my Myriah, amongst dragons, wolves and _lions_ ,” Jon did not miss the way she hissed the last. He knew of that enmities ran deep between House Martell and House Lannister. And if he were to be truthful, House Targaryen and House Martell have enjoyed years of alliance but there was also blood between them; there always seemed to be blood.

“Myriah would be raised as a princess, raised to be a Queen. Here at court,” Jon replied.

Arianne Martell turned to him, “do you take me to be a fool?” she seethed, “Myriah would be a hostage-“

He corrected, “a ward. She would adjust to court life while she is still young and she would be raised beside the Prince,”

“And all I have to ensure her safety is the word of the King?” Arianne Martell scowled.

Jon turned to her, “no,” he replied, “you would have _your_ word to ensure your daughter’s safety, your oath of allegiance to House Targaryen, in perpetuity,” she glared at him and Jon continued, “but we do not hurt children here, not anymore,”

Arianne Martell stared at him then she opened her mouth to speak.

“Do take some time to consider the offer carefully, Lady Martell,” Jon said. _It would be the last._

She tensed just slightly at his words before she relaxed and bowed, “your Grace,” as she straightened, there was a smirk on her face. Then she left, disappearing among the crowd.

Jon closed his eyes momentarily. He had told Daenerys he had never wanted to partake in the games the High Lords played and truthfully, it tired him. Then he remembered how bluntly he had refused Daenerys’ demand to bend the knee; it brought a smile to his lips. How he had frustrated Daenerys then. He had no intention for diplomacy at that time, there was simply no time for that.

But now, here, with the Martells, Jon knew he would do everything he can to resolve this amicably. Westeros could not go to war again; they have already lost too much in the War of the Five Kings and the Great War. And for Jon, he simply had more to lose now; a family.

Then he looked up, searching for Daenerys and Jaehaerys in the crowd but realising they were not there. Jon frowned. Then he saw Missandei approaching from the direction of Maegor’s Holdfast.

She bowed before him, “your Grace,” he gestured for her to rise, “the Queen is unwell and has returned to the Holdfast-” he froze. Without a word, he descended the steps and swept past her, the Kingsguards close on his heels.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Jon_ **

“What happened?” Jon asked Missandei who was keeping pace with him, just a step behind.

“She felt unwell during her dance with the Prince and requested that she be brought back to her chambers,” Missandei said, “she had sent me to ask that you remain at the feast with the people,” she repeated.

Jon could barely hear her beyond that the Queen was unwell, the blood rushing in his ears getting louder, “where is Jaehaerys?”

“He is with the Queen,” Missandei replied. Jon nodded absently and picked up his pace, barely able to restrain himself from breaking into a run.

He opened the door to the solar and it was quiet, “has the Grand Maester been summoned?”

Missandei shook her head, “the Queen insisted there was no need and she would be better once rested,” Jon nodded and he approached the closed door to the chambers. He paused and knocked before opening it.

He peered around the door as he walked in. Daenerys was sitting up in bed, pillows at her back. Jaehaerys was curled up by her side. On the floor beside the bed, Suvion was lying on its side.

They looked up as he entered. Jon approached the bed and sat. The braids in her hair have been loosened so her hair tumbled over her back and shoulders but she was still wearing her red dress.

“What are you doing here?” Daenerys asked. Her voice was thin and wavered as she spoke. Her face was deathly pale.

Jon reached for her gently, letting the back of his fingers caress her cheek, glad to feel her warmth, “what is wrong? Are you unwell?”

Daenerys smiled; a forced smile that did not reach her eyes, “I just felt tired during the dance,” she said. Jon frowned.

Then Jaehaerys, who was listening the whole time with wide eyes, lifted his head from Daenerys’ side and blurted, “Mother almost fell over,”

“Jaehaerys,” Daenerys turned to him, her tone that of chiding but the effect was lost on Jaehaerys due to lack of strength behind her voice, “I lost my balance is all, no need to worry yourself,” she turned to Jon. Jaehaerys pouted up at her before burrowing his face into her shoulder

Jon sighed, cupping her cheek gently, “Daenerys. I worry for you more so when you keep these things from me,” he inched closer, “tell me truthfully, please,”

She held his gaze a moment longer before she closed her eyes momentarily, “I felt faint,”

“Why haven’t you allowed Missandei to call the Grand Maester?” Jon asked gently.

Daenerys shook her head, “what would the lords and ladies think if they see the Grand Maester coming to the Queen’s chambers? That their frail Queen has fallen ill again after having just recovered,”

Jon sighed, “Daenerys, I don’t care what the lords and ladies think, I only care about you, that you are well,”

“Why would they follow me if I am not well enough to lead them?” she frowned and Jon felt he understood her turmoil, her struggle.  _She could not show weakness, as a leader._ It was the Dothraki way and the way she learned.

Jon then took her hand in his, “Daenerys,” she looked up, “I am here now and I would never let it fall. You’re not doing this alone anymore,” he then said in reply to her question, “they will follow _us,_ ”

She smiled then. Then she muttered in realisation and almost reverence, “and we truly are strongest when we are together, aren’t we?”

“Since the beginning,” Jon leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, “now, at least let Sam have a look at you. He is not the Grand Maester but he has the knowledge to find out what is wrong,”

Daenerys seemed to hesitate but eventually, she nodded. Jon stood and opened the door of their chambers, asking Missandei to summon Sam, discretely.

As they waited, Jon sat by her bed, holding her hand in his. He caressed her fingers and pressed kisses to her hand as she stroked Jaehaerys’ hair. The Prince was starting to fall asleep but he refused to leave to go to bed.

Then there was a soft knock and Jon gave his permission to enter. The door opened softly and Samwell bowed as he saw him and the Queen. Sam was wearing his Maester robes and chains but he brought no equipment but a small bag and for his discretion, Jon was grateful. Jon gestured for Sam to approach and he did.

“The Queen is unwell,” Jon muttered to his friend, rising. Sam nodded and approached the Queen. He asked her some questions about how she was feeling and Daenerys replied them all in a measured tone.

“Do you feel your appetite failing or feel some sickness?” Sam asked and Jon knew Sam already had his speculations.

Daenerys paused, “I did feel some sickness but it was when I have heard of the death of a friend,” Jon did recall Daenerys paling as the Meereeneese had told her something but had not realised it was because of a loss of a friend. His understanding of High Valyrian was restricted to those useful to command the dragons.

“What about your appetite?” Sam probed.

Daenerys shook her head, “I have been eating well enough,”

“How long has it been since you felt bouts of fainting happening?”

Her eyes glanced over Jon, “not long,” Daenerys replied tightly. He pinched his lips together. _It has been a while. And she had not said anything. All the times spent together, had she been unwell? Have I been blind to how my wife felt the whole time?_

Sam paused then, seeming to hesitate, “your Grace, if I may?” he raised a hand to her arm, glancing at Jon.

Daenerys nodded and extended her arm, with her palm up. Sam felt on her inner wrist before he lowered his hand.

“When was the last time you bled, your Grace?” Sam asked and Jon felt his brows rise.

“It was-“ Daenerys paused then. Then realisation seemed to spread across her face and she relaxed into the pillow, her hand coming up to rest at her abdomen. Then she looked up at him, shock evident on her features. Jon froze.

Sam smiled then, “I believe congratulations are in order, your Graces,”

Jon blinked then, stepping forward beside Sam, “Sam, a-are you certain?”

Sam’s eyes darted to the Queen then to him, “well…” he hesitated, “if your Graces have been engaging in nightly activities regularly that would make it possible…” Sam’s face was turning increasingly red and Jon felt his own warm, “I-I am quite certain,” he smiled nervously then, “the Grand Maester would be able to confirm-“

Jon could not help the laugh that escaped him then as he clasped Sam about his shoulders. The man startled beneath his hard clasps but Jon could not find it in himself to feel sorry. He pulled Sam into a firm hug, “thank you Sam,” when he pulled away, Sam was wide-eyed, surprised.

Then Jon released him and Sam smiled, bowed and took his leave.

Jon watched the door close behind his friend. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his heart was pounding in his chest in excitement and disbelief. Then, finally, he turned to look at Daenerys. She had an arm around Jaehaerys, who was now lightly snoring. She had her free hand on her abdomen and she was looking down, in curiosity and awe. He approached to sit on the bed beside Daenerys, gently reaching forward and covering her hand with his.

Daenerys looked up at him then. Her eyes were welling with tears that did not fall, “how could I not have known? I have known with my first and with Jaehaerys…”

Jon smiled, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, “you have been suitably occupied,” he said, “that is a perfectly good reason for you to not have noticed,”

Daenerys swallowed visibly and she looked down at her abdomen, “if I had felt or spared a look I would have known,” she removed her hand and Jon placed his hand over their child. She was right. Jon did not know if it was his imagination; to the eye, it was not visible but Jon thought could feel the barely noticeable but distinct swell. Shifting and hunching over, Jon pressed a kiss to the small swell.

“Hey little one,” he whispered.

Daenerys laughed then, cupping his face with her hand and guiding him to look at her, “I don’t think our child can hear you just yet, Jon,”

Jon smiled, pressing another kiss to their child and murmured nonetheless, “Father and Mother love you very much,” then he gazed up at her, “and Father loves your Mother very much,”  

“Jon,” she ran her fingers through his hair over his scalp and Jon felt his eyes fluttered close as he relaxed. He loved his name when she said it like this.

“You have to rest,” he said and stood reluctantly, going to the door to summon the wet nurse to bring Jaehaerys back to his chambers. Daenerys and Jon kissed their sleeping son before the wet nurse gently took him in her arms. Jaehaerys stirred slightly, murmuring in his sleep, but remained asleep. Suvion perked up from the carpet as he saw Jaehaerys being carried out of the room. He looked at Jon before darting out the room, on the heel of the wet nurse.

As Jon made to call for her handmaidens, Daenerys stopped him, “no,”

He paused, his hand on the door, and turned, “you still have to get undressed for bed,” he pointed out.

“I want my husband to help me with that, if you want to” she said. Jon stared. Her eyes then fell from his and she whispered, “I want only my husband’s hands on me this night.”

Jon smiled, approaching and sitting on the bed, “it would be my honour, my Queen,” he took her hand, gently tugging her away from the pillows and guided her to her feet, watching her face carefully. As she rose from the bed, she closed her eyes and teetered, instantly Jon slipped an arm around her waist, holding her against him for a moment. She blinked hard, her face paling, “alright?”

She swallowed, her face turning green. Jon reached for the basin that Missandei had left for her, placing it before her just as she threw up.

Jon tensed, feeling his heart wrench with every retch that shook her petite body. Her fingers clasped the basin firmly and Jon brought his hand around to hold her hair, the other stroking her back.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and retched again.

“No, don’t be, my love,” he told her gently but firmly. Then when she seemed done, he brought a goblet of water to her for her to rinse the taste of sick from her mouth. Then Jon took the basin from her, putting it aside. She was sitting on the edge of the bed when he turned. Her face was deathly pale and Jon immediately went to her side, “how do you feel?” he pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. She felt colder than usual, and her skin was clammy.

“Just light headed,” she replied, her eyes fluttering close. Jon nodded. Then he stood closer to her, one leg between hers as he leaned to peer over her shoulder. He undid her dress. When he was done, he gently removed the dress and placed it over the chair. Then he stared. Her underclothes were that of sheer silk. His eyes wandered over, drinking in, the perfect curve of her hips, her waist and her beautiful breasts. His heart pounded in chest, his throat constricted and his mouth dried. But then he saw her still pale and tired visage and he blinked, muttering reproaches to himself.

“Rest,” he held her shoulders, gently guiding her back into bed but Daenerys resisted and stayed sitting, “Daenerys,” he whispered but she did not reply him. Instead, her hands came up to his belt and her fingers slowly untied it, “I can undress later,” his hands covered hers but they continued to work at undressing him so he sighed and allowed her. Jon sat beside her as she reached up to undo his robe.

As he shrugged off his robe and removed his undershirt, he startled just slightly as he felt the tip of her fingers touch his scars gently. Her eyes were watching the tips of her fingers trail over his scars intently. Then she closed her eyes and leaned into him, her arms snaked around his waist, her cheek pressed against his bare shoulder and her body flushed against his. Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her, firm but gentle, his nose in her hair breathing in the sweet scent of her.

“Jon,” she muttered, “I thought you were going to be killed in the melee,” Her voice trembled as her arms around his waist tightened.

“How could I be defeated when I am wearing my Queen’s favour?” Jon pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Daenerys hummed, her eyes closed, “what did Arianne Martell want at the feast?”

He tensed at the mention of her. Jon had not known Daenerys had noticed their exchange. He glanced at her to see her eyes still closed, “she-“ he hesitated. _Aegon Targaryen can have two Queens and Dorne_. Jon knew this would only upset Daenerys, so he said, “I told her of our plan to accept her terms and for Myriah to be fostered at King’s Landing, from now until she has flowered and would be wedded to Jaehaerys,”

“And what did she say?” she asked.

“She was appalled. She thinks we are taking Myriah as hostage for her allegiance,” Jon muttered.

“So she refused?” Daenerys pulled away and looked at him.

Jon shook his head, “she did not. But she did not look agreeable.”

“If she does not agree to this, we would _take_ Dorne,” she was not asking and Jon stiffened, “there is no other way,” her tone softened as she noticed how he instinctively withdrew at that idea.

 _Yes there is_. But Jon was never going to agree to it and she needed rest, not to be agitated, so he nodded mutely instead. Daenerys paused, sensing his hesitation but did not push him further. She gently pressed the side of her face to his chest again and Jon relaxed.

“Daario Naharis is dead,” Daenerys said instead. Jon remembered his name being brought up in the conversation she has had with the Meereeneese, “he was the captain of the Second Sons and he swore his sword and the Second Sons to me. He helped us win Yunkai without a battle,”

Jon frowned, curious, “how did he manage that?” Jon asked, feeling his heart warm as it always did when Daenerys told him about her past, that he sorely realised he knew little of.

“He helped Ser Jorah and Grey Worm sneak into Yunkai in the night and opened the gates for the Unsullied,” Daenerys replied.

Jon felt the furrow between his brows deepen, “how did he sneak into Yunkai?”

Daenerys hesitated, “he was their hired sword,”

Jon stiffened, “so he betrayed them?” _another traitor._

He felt her sigh, “yes he did,” Daenerys admitted and Jon felt a pregnant pause between them; a meaningful pause.

“Daenerys,” Jon said, looking down at her and she lifted her head from his chest, “how can you trust a man who betrayed his own comrades?” Daenerys did not reply and Jon asked instead, “why are you telling me about him?”

Daenerys looked up at him, an uncertain look in her eyes. Then she spoke, slowly, “he loved me,” she said, “and while I was ruling in Meereen, he was my lover,”

Jon paused, aware of her eyes on him, watching and waiting for his reply. _Daario Naharis. He’s dead. A dead man. And Daenerys is here, with me, in my arms and she is carrying_ my _child._

He asked then, “does it upset you, that he is dead?”

She blinked then smiled, amused, “I just told you I took a lover in Meereen and you are wondering how I am feeling?”

Jon frowned, “I don’t want you to stay upset, especially now when you already are unwell,”

She shook her head; seeming to be in awe at him. Jon shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, “Jon Snow, you really are something else,”

“No,” he said, unable to look into her awe-filled eyes so he found her lips instead, “I am just a man who is in love,” he leaned forward and closed his eyes to claim her lips but caught himself when she withdrew.

“You wouldn’t want a kiss now,” Jon opened his eyes and saw her glancing to the basin of sick meaningfully.

“Yes I would,” he grinned, chastely pressing his lips to hers before she could react. Daenerys blinked, surprised and laughed lightly, “now, you need to rest,” he said. He held her shoulders and made to guide her into bed but she tugged on his pants.

“Lie down with me,” she said.

Jon nodded, “I will, later,” he leaned over her, adjusting her pillow. She was watching him, wide eyed as she lay back. He smiled at her and made to straighten. But he had not notice Daenerys’ hand, still on the band of his pants. He gasped as Daenerys stubbornly held on, pulling him to her as he tried to stand and he teetered, losing his balance. Frantic, he managed to catch himself by his elbows, just over her, “Dany!” he chided, his face only inches from hers.

She stared at him. _My brother used to call me that._ He could hear her say. The brother who had been cruel to her.

Jon opened his mouth, hesitating then he blurted, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-“

“No,” she said then, “it’s alright,” she seemed as surprised as he was. Then she laughed at his panic.

He feigned a stern look, “Daenerys. That is not funny. I could have hurt you, and our child,”

It did nothing to quell her amusement, a wide smile still on her face as she shook her head adamantly, “you would never hurt us,”

Jon felt the edge of his lips twitch up unwittingly and he extracted her grip on his pants and stood quickly, turning to blow out most of the candles by the wall, leaving a few. He wanted to see her.

Daenerys was watching him as he returned to the bed. He removed his boots and slipped under the covers, smiling as her body instantly melted against his side, fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm, her legs tangled with his.

“Would you want a daughter? Or another son?” Daenerys asked, her eyes closed.

Jon smiled as he pondered, “both,” He felt her laugh before she looked up at him, “what about you?”

“A daughter would be nice,” she admitted, “but another boy would make Jaehaerys very happy,”

Jon laughed, “Jaehaerys would be happy to have a sister,”

“Until she forces him to play pretend with her everyday,” Daenerys shot back, smiling. Then her smile slowly faded, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Daenerys?”

Her eyes refocussed to look at him. She shook her head with a smile, “I used to do that when I was a child, with Viserys,” Jon gently caressed her back, “I would beg him to be my prince while I pretended to be a princess. He would always tell me that I did not need to pretend; that I _am_ the princess of Dragonstone,” her eyes welled up then and Jon felt his heart twinge uncomfortably, “he would be my prince for the whole day. We would pretend we were taking a walk in the royal gardens or that we were having supper, or that we were riding our dragons,” she chuckled bitterly and closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. Jon gently wiped at it with the crook of his finger.

“He loved you,” Jon said, realising.

Daenerys nodded and continued, her voice thick, “he did. We were all each other had for a time. He protected me, not only from men who wanted to kill us but from the evil in the world. He would not allow me to follow him to the markets every morning when he would go to sell our possessions for coin so we could eat. He did not want me to see him beg and he had never allowed me to beg,” Daenerys swallowed visibly, steadying her voice just to continue, “but I was with him when we had run out of coin and I was so hungry and weak I could not even walk. Viserys sold our mother’s crown so we could fill my bellies that day. He was angry ever since. He had sold the last of his heart with that crown,”

Jon had never knew. When they had met, Daenerys had told him of her hardship in exile in a show of force and he knew she had been sold to the Dothraki in exchange for an army. But he had not expected this; that Daenerys had wandered the streets in Essos as a child, starving and without a home. He had never felt more naïve, “Dany…”

She shook her head and wiped her tears away hastily, “no, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said thickly.

Jon caught her hand and pulled it away from her face, “it’s alright,” he said softly when her red swollen eyes met his and Jon felt his heart break, “it has been a long day, you are tired. Go to sleep,” she sniffed and rested.

“I like it when you call me Dany,” she whispered sleepily, “it sounds different from the way Viserys had called me before he died,”

Jon smiled. He watched as her eyelids drooped and closed and her breathing evened out as she slept. _Dany. My Dany._

Then, when he dared, knowing she slept deeply enough so he would not wake her, he caressed her cheek gently with the back of his fingers as he indulged himself; gazing at her beautiful face. Then his eyes darted to her abdomen. He smiled as he placed a hand over her stomach, still flat but for a small, barely noticeable swell.

 _The King had ran down the steps of the Iron Throne, ripping the crown from his head as he exited the throne room._ The Queen is in labour. _Varys had whispered in his ear as he watched a peasant, who had seek an audience with the King, leave the throne room._ _He was breathless by the time he came to the royal chambers, the Kingsguard members struggling to catch up. He pushed open the door and entered._

_In the chambers he came to be familiar with, the King did not recognise the smell; it was the sharp smell of herbs and potions and there was the smell of blood, heavy in the air. The King hesitated in the solar before he gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders, walking straight into the private chambers. The Grand Maester was standing over the Queen’s swollen belly, a cone shaped contraption pressed to her belly and his ear on the other end. Sam turned around as he entered._

_The King went straight to his Queen’s side, “what happened?” he demanded._

_The Grand Maester straightened. He bowed but the King hastily waved for him to proceed, “the handmaidens came to me when she saw the water from the Queen,” the King had discussed the birth with the Grand Maester and Sam before; that the Maesters instead of midwives would deliver the baby, as they do in the North, “we have given her potions that would hasten the birth and for the Queen to relax. The Crown Prince or Princess is doing well,” the Grand Maester gestured, “would your Grace like to hear?”_

_The King nodded and the Grand Maester placed the contraption on the swell that was his child and the King pressed his ear against it as he had seen the Grand Maester did. His eyes widened as he heard the distinctive beating of a heart. It was faster than he had ever heard but strong. The King drew back and leaned towards his Queen, taking her cold hand in his._

_“Daenerys,” he whispered, gazing at her paling visage, “our baby is coming, can you feel him?” she was unresponsive and he turned to Sam, “can she hear me?”_

_Sam shifted, “we do not know your Grace,” the King felt his heart sink and his eyes lowered, “but,” Sam took a step forward, “I have read that some people wake up after a long sleep and they claim they could hear all that happened around them the whole time,”_

_The King gazed at the Queen, clutching that last bit of hope._

_“Your Grace, if we may,” the Grand Maester gestured to the Queen and the King nodded, his eyes fixed on the Queen’s face, vaguely aware of the Maesters adjusting the Queen for the birth._

_They had waited then, the Maesters checking constantly for signs that the Queen is ready for the delivery and all the while, the King held her hand. The Maesters have told the King of the pain that a woman would experience before she would be ready to deliver the baby and the King was worried but at the same time, he had hope that the pain of their child leaving her body and coming into this world would wake her. However, whatever he was told did not prepare him when the Queen had convulsed sharply, her hand squeezing his._

_He had leant forward then, praying with all his heart that her eyes might open or even that she might cry out in pain. But she does not. Her body stilled and her hand went limp in his as suddenly as they had moved. He turned to Sam, “the Queen’s body is preparing to deliver the baby,” he confirmed the King’s suspicions, “it would come in waves and get closer together,” the King nodded stiffly._

_He placed a hand on the swell of her belly, gently caressing their child, hoping to soothe the child as much as he was trying to calm himself of the fear for the life of his wife and child. His other hand squeezed hers tightly, willing her to squeeze his hand again; willing her to show him a semblance of any life left in her._

_From then, every wave of pain that prepared her body had sucked the breath from the King, filling him with hope that she would wake, only to drive the knife of disappointment into his stomach, twisting it when she stilled once more, her hand cold and limp in his._

_He did not know how long he had sat there but then, one strong contraction caused her body to twitch and he thought he saw a furrow formed between Daenerys’ brows, “Daenerys,” he whispered, hopeful. His hand came up to the side of her face, “our child is coming. You have to wake up,” her eyes remained closed._

_Then he felt an anger begin to rise in him; that she would disregard the arrival of their child, that she could pay no heed to him._

_“Do you not want to see our child?” his voice cracked as he demanded, “how could you be so cold and cruel?”_

_All the while, his eyes watched her hopefully but she did not respond._

_“Daenerys,_ please _, come back to me,” he whispered, lowering and hiding his face as a traitorous tear fell from his eye. Then another. And another. And his shoulders shook as a sob racked his body._

_“Your Grace,” he felt a hand on his shoulder and he glimpsed Sam beside him, squeezing his shoulder._

_He did not look up, “is she ready?” he asked thickly._

_He heard a stir of the wind as the Grand Maester checked, “yes, soon, your Grace-“_

_The King stiffened as the Queen’s body twitched sharply and her body seemed to writhe in pain and in that moment, he was certain she was in agony._

_At that thought, he had never felt more selfish and he hated himself for it; for ignoring her pain and only hoping it could wake her. He rose from his seat and sat on the bed beside her. He drew her into his arms gently to sit up. Then he sat behind him and when he leaned back, his shoulders pressed against the head of the bed, letting her lean on him so her back was pressed up against him._

_He gently brushed aside her hair from her ear, resting his chin on her shoulder, “Daenerys, I’m sorry. I can barely even begin to imagine the pain you are feeling now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the soft spot under her ear, “I’m here,” he reached for both her hands with his and placed them on her belly, his hands over hers, “can you feel our baby? He’s moving,” he marvelled._

_“The Queen is ready, your Grace,” the Grand Maester said, “the potion the Queen took should be of help but it is up to the Queen now,”_

_The King felt panic rise in him as her eyes remained stubbornly closed and she was unmoving in his arms. For a moment, there was nothing and the King entertained the horrific possibility that the Queen might be unable to deliver the child; that their child would die before he could see the world._

_Then suddenly, her body tensed, taut, and arched against his. With her body pressed against his like this, he could feel every twitch in her body as she convulsed from the effort and pain. He gazed at her then, in awe._ Such was a mother’s love for her child. _Even while barely holding onto her own life, Daenerys would give life to her child; her body instinctively knowing what to do to bring her child into this world, to give him his own chance at life._

_Then the thought of his own mother came to him then; Lyanna Stark. She had died to bring him into this world. Just as Daenerys’ own mother had died giving birth to her._

_The King looked up suddenly to notice the frowns on the Maesters’ face._

_Fear gripped him then._

_The Gods could not possibly think to be so cruel to him. They could not have let Daenerys live only to deliver their child…_

Could they?

_When his fear threatened to choke him, he tightened his arms around Daenerys as he would cling onto dear life; her life. He said to her, “don’t be afraid, Daenerys. Our mothers were alone, they did not have our fathers with them. But I am here. I would not let death take you from me,” he nestled his face against the side of hers, taking as much comfort from those words as they were supposed to offer to her, “whatever strength and life there is in me, take it,” he whispered, closing his eyes as her already taut body writhed._

_He thought he heard a gasp escape her as Sam exclaimed, “I can see the baby!”_

_He pressed a kiss to the side of her face, “Daenerys, that’s it, our child is almost here. You are so strong, I know you are,” he could feel her petite body trembling in the aftermath of a convulsion, her skin clammy. She was in pain and he was helpless, “If I could, I would take all your pain upon my own body,” he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, “Daenerys, can you hear me?” he reached for her hand on her stomach, clasping it firmly in his, “I love you-“_

_Her body shook so strongly then it surprised Jon and he would have thought she was awake if not for her still closed eyes. Her head fell back against his shoulder. He watched as her lips parted just slightly, longing to hear her voice telling him how much it hurts. He knew he would give anything for her to wake then, even his life._

_Then a gasp from Sam was followed by a loud cry that shattered the quiet of the night. The King turned to see the Grand Maester pull a babe from the Queen. It was a small thing, wet and bloody._

_“It’s the Crown Prince, your Grace!” the Grand Maester announced as he swaddled the babe up a red and black cloth. Jon stared as the Grand Maester approached with the squalling babe._

_The King guided the Queen’s arms then, “the Queen will hold him first,” the Grand Maester nodded and bowed over to place the babe carefully in the Queen’s arms, held steady by the King. Then he retreated to tend to the Queen._

_The King peered at the babe. There were still blood over his puckered face. The loud cries from his parted little red lips were loud but the King had never heard a more beautiful sound. On his head, the babe already had hair, plastered to his forehead with blood but the King could see it was silver, like his mother._

_“Daenerys, our son is beautiful,” he told her. Then the squalling babe quietened and opened his eyes, “would you not wake to see him?” the King asked her gently. The babe was staring at his mother’s face and the King turned to look at her. Her eyes were still closed and her face serene. The babe’s face puckered and the King felt his son’s sadness as his own, “no,” he whispered to his son hurriedly._

_The babe relaxed then, listening to his voice, seemingly transfixed by it. The King then reached over with a trembling hand, cupping the babe’s heavy cheek so gently he was barely touching him, “don’t get upset, my son. Mother loves you. Father loves you. Very much,”_

_The babe hiccupped softly then, his eyes finally finding his Father._

_“What is his name, your Grace?” Sam asked._

_The King paused._

“What if it’s a boy?” _Daenerys asked,_ “would you like ‘Eddard’?”

 _He was moved that she had suggested it but the name did not seem right for a Targaryen King so he suggested instead,_ “Jaehaerys? A little bit of ‘Jon’ and a little bit of ‘Daenerys’,” _She had smiled and nodded._

_The King blinked. Sam’s and the Grand Maester’s eyes were still on him, waiting expectantly. The King looked at his son who was staring at him. He smiled, “he will be Jaehaerys Targaryen, the third of his name,”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early Christmas present for all you lovely people! And I thought it would be nice to leave you guys with a happy (mostly) chapter for the occasion. MERRY CHRISTMAS! 
> 
> Apologies if the birthing seemed unrealistic to those of you who are more caught up with the details, I'm honestly not an expert in that area and am just concerned with portraying our sweet Jon to the best I can;) Hope you guys enjoyed it regardless!


	21. Chapter 21

**_Daenerys_ **

The first thing she felt was the cold air on her skin when it was normally warm. She blinked, and opened her eyes, squinting against the light that came in from the balcony. Jon’s side of the bed was empty but there were traces that he had slept in it in the creases of the sheets. She shifted and looked about the empty chambers. Then she sat up, no longer light headed as she had felt the night before. At that thought, she looked down, her hand coming up to touch her abdomen. She smiled, feeling an indescribable happiness, one she had felt years ago but had been marred by fear of the impending war.

As she basked in the joy she felt at the thought of their child growing in her, she realised it was a feeling she rarely felt without Jon by her side. But in a way, even now, a part of Jon was with her, in her. How and when she had come to need him so, she did not know. Daenerys knew it was always dangerous to let herself feel like this for another but she could not bring herself to regret this or even try to stop it. _Something so beautiful can’t be wrong. Can it?_

There was a knock and Daenerys gave her leave to enter. She smiled, eagerly, expecting to see her husband but instead, Missandei entered.

“Good morning, your Grace,” Missandei bowed.

Her smile faltered just slightly, turning to that of amusement at herself; at how giddy she was at the thought of seeing Jon. She felt more a young naïve princess than a Queen. She shook her head at herself.

“Good morning, Missandei,” she replied, trying to contain her grin.

But her confidante had already noticed her exceedingly good mood and was approaching her with a curious smile of her own. Missandei helped her out of bed then, “are you feeling better, your Grace?”

Daenerys nodded and looked meaningfully at her. Missandei paused, glancing down to her hand on her abdomen before her eyes widened. Daenerys nodded in confirmation to her silent question and they hugged.

“Congratulations, your Grace,” Missandei said softly. Then Missandei drew a bath for her at her request, the steam rising from the water just as she knew Daenerys preferred. She appreciated Missandei’s efforts in preparing such baths. The water could easily scald her if Missandei was not careful. Daenerys sighed as her body, which she did not realised was tensed, relaxed in the hot water.

“Do you know where the King went?” Daenerys asked, her eyes closed as Missandei ran a soft towel over her back.

“I saw him in the gardens with the Starks,”

Daenerys smiled, knowing just how much Jon had missed his family. The capital was truly different from Winterfell, “I’m glad,” she replied.

“The King has also told me to inform your Grace that there would be a horse racing event for the tourney today but he would attend with the Hand and your Grace need not trouble yourself. He advised that you rest this day,” Missandei said. Daenerys felt a twinge of annoyance at the liberty Jon took but then she recalled the soft look in his eyes as he gazed at her the night before and the last of the fire of her annoyance sizzled away. She smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

Once she had completed her bath, Missandei reached for a new nightdress but Daenerys shook her head, “something presentable but comfortable,”

Missandei frowned, “you should be resting, your Grace,”

Daenerys sighed, “I am well, my friend. Don’t worry yourself,” she assured and held Missandei’s gaze for a moment before the girl relented and fetched a white dress for her. It was light and comfortable, just as Daenerys had wanted. She slipped it on and allowed Missandei to braid her hair just so it would not fall into her face. Daenerys no longer felt the need or want to have all her hair braided.

Then she stood and left the chambers. Outside the door, Qhono and Kovarro were standing guard. They nodded to her as she emerged and followed closely on her heel.

“Did you see the Prince this morning?” Daenerys turned to Missandei, who was walking by her side.

Missandei shook her head, “no but at this hour, the Prince normally has his lessons in the training yard,”

“Riding?” Daenerys asked, noticing Aggo’s absence.

Missandei nodded, “yes and sword fighting,”

“Again?” Daenerys mused.

“The Prince insists to have those lessons every day. He enjoys them very much,” Missandei said, “his language lessons with this one and history lessons with Maester Samwell, not so much,” Daenerys chuckled, shaking her head. As a child, she always harboured a mischievous streak but she loved the books and going outside equally. She could only guess Jaehaerys got his love for sparring and training in the yards from Jon. She smiled, mentally noting to talk with Jon about his childhood more frequently; she enjoyed those stories of Winterfell that he told her.

As they approached the yard, Daenerys could hear the familiar clashing of swords and she could smell the musk of sweat and horses. The yard was crowded but it was no long before she spotted the Prince. She smiled as she saw her son, dressed in light leather armour and his hair pulled back, not unlike how Jon used to wear his hair when she had first saw him at Dragonstone, and even now. He really looked like his father in that moment and Daenerys felt her heart warm at that thought.

Daenerys raised her brows when she noticed he was not wielding a wooden sword but a steel sword.

“Your Grace,” a knight nearby saw her and sank to his knees. Then the others saw and they stopped and sank to their knees, greeting her. Jaehaerys turned, seeing all the knights on their knees. Horror and fear crossed his face. But when he saw her, the fear was gone, chased away with a wide grin.

“Mother!” he dropped his sword and ran to her. She smiled, gesturing for the knights to rise. Jaehaerys stopped in front of her and bowed in greeting, “Mother,” Daenerys crouched and open her arms to him. He shook his head adamantly, “no. I don’t want to ruin your dress,” he pointed out and Daenerys smiled, amused to see that his leather armour was caked with mud and dirt.

She gently brushed his hair back from his face, “what are you doing?”

“Training! With Arya!” he exclaimed.

“Your Grace,” she looked up to see Arya coming up behind Jaehaerys, a sword held behind her back as she bowed.

Daenerys looked at her reproachfully, “you know there is no need for that, Arya,” Arya smiled, nodding. Then she turned to her son, reaching for him, “why did you look scared when you saw the knights kneel?”

Jaehaerys swiftly ducked under her hand and ran to hide behind Arya. Daenerys gaped, surprised. He had never refused her touch before. Arya only laughed, “he thought it was Jon,” she explained.

Daenerys raised a brow, peering at Jaehaerys who was not looking at her.

Arya continued, “Jon does not allow him to use steel swords. Only wooden ones,”

“Real sword _are_ dangerous,” Daenerys admitted, eyeing Jaehaerys in amusement. He seemed to be preparing himself for a tongue lashing, his head bowed so low she could not see his little cherubic face. He stiffened visibly when he heard her.

“They are blunted, your Grace,” Arya said, grabbing the sword she held with her bare hand and handing it to her, hilt first. Daenerys took it and touched the tip with her palm. It was indeed blunt.

“Then I don’t see why the Prince cannot practice with swords,” Daenerys replied and instantly, Jaehaerys perked up and his eyes lit up.

“Really, Mother?” he ran from behind Arya to stand before her.

She crouched so she could look at him levelled, “yes, really. But I understand why your father would not approve. Swords are still swords and can be dangerous. So you have to promise me, you will be careful,” she handed him the sword.

Jaehaerys nodded solemnly as he took the sword but his eyes were bright with joy. Then Daenerys turned to Arya.

“May I speak with you, sister?”

Arya blinked, “of course,” she then turned to Jaehaerys, “go for your horse riding lessons, little white wolf, I’ll be with you in a while,”

Jaehaerys nodded, grinning, “Aggo ezzolat anna ovvethat hrazef (Aggo will teach me to shoot with a bow on a horse)!”

He turned and ran to the stables. Arya looked confused, not understanding a word but Daenerys raised her brows in worry.

“Aggo is going to teach me to shoot today! From horseback!” Jaehaerys shouted over his shoulder at Arya, seeming to remember Arya did not understand.

Daenerys turned to Qhono beside her, “Khalakka sekke imesh ezolat ovvethat hrazef (the prince is too young to learn to shoot from horseback),” beside her, Arya was watching her speak curiously.

“Khaleesi, Khalakka vos sekke imesh (the Prince is not too young),” Qhono replied, “Rakh ezolat dothralat hatif ifat ma ezolat ovvethat tor (boys learn to ride horses before they could walk and they learn shoot from horseback by 4)”

Daenerys frowned, “Khalakka vos vezhak (The Prince is not a horse lord),”

Qhono shook his head, “Vo, vosma Khalakka vitisherat vezhak. Me azho, (no, but the Prince has been raised to be a horse lord. He has a gift),” he looked to a distance and she followed his gaze to see Jaehaerys reaching the stables where Aggo held the reins of his pony. She watched as Jaehaerys mounted the pony smoothly and urged it into a sprint before turning it around back to the stables. The animal was completely obedient, “Khalakka ivezholat ma hajolat ei asshekh (the Prince grows fierce and strong everyday),” she watched Aggo show Jaehaerys how to wield the bow and how to nock the arrow, “Khalakka haj lajak (the Prince will be a strong warrior),”

She watched Jaehaerys take the bow from Aggo and as he studied the bow in his hand, he urged the horse to walk and stand in front of the target.

Arya turned to her then, “Jaehaerys is very good on a horse,” she commented.

Daenerys nodded, “Aggo has been training with him. You don’t disapprove,” she observed, referring to the fact that Jaehaerys was learning to shoot, and from horseback, at such a young age. It was apparent the Westerosi did not start these things so young. This was the Dothraki way.

“Neither do you,” Arya smiled.

Daenerys chuckled, “I worry,” she sighed as she admitted, “but no, I don’t disapprove. The Dothraki boy learn to ride young,” they both knew it would serve Jaehaerys well in the future, even if there would be bumps and bruises now.

“Let’s just keep this from Jon for a while,” Arya’s smile widened. Her eyes twinkling in amusement, “he can be ridiculously protective over Jaehaerys,”

“Did he really chide Jaehaerys for training with blunt training swords?” Daenerys asked.

Arya laughed, “Jaehaerys said it was the first time Jon had properly shouted at him. Poor little white wolf did not even dare to touch the sword just now when I offered it to him,”

“He did in the end,” Daenerys pointed out.

Arya nodded, rolling her eyes, “only after I told him I would protect him from Jon, assuring him Needle would not lose to Longclaw,” she glanced at the sword at her hip then she looked at her, “but-“ she hesitated. And Daenerys waited, “could you keep that from Jon? That Jaehaerys trained with real swords today, with me,”

Daenerys laughed, “Arya, lying to his Grace is a punishable offence,” she teased.

Arya grinned, “and the law gets a little complicated when one Monarch commits that offence against the other,” Daenerys looked at her incredulously but she was unable to keep her smile off her face.

Daenerys thoroughly enjoyed Arya. In a way, Arya reminded her of herself; a youthful mischief that always lurked beneath the surface, the urge to fight at the frontlines than stay behind as the damsel, the lack of know how to or care for lady-like mannerisms or skills. But in a way, Daenerys felt she has changed. Daenerys now looked at what other ladies did curiously and longingly; how they would curtsy prettily to their Lords, how they could sew their own dresses and sew something for their Lord husband and beautiful children. She had felt a strange urge to want to do those things, for Jon. She remembered Sansa’s surprise when she had asked Sansa to teach her to curtsy; she was surprised the Queen wanted or even needed to learn. But Sansa had taught her patiently and the look on Jon’s face at the feast as she curtsied to him would forever be kept in her mind, close to her heart.

“I’ll keep it in mind to bring that matter up to the Master of Law,” Daenerys said and Arya laughed. Daenerys glanced sideways to her before she decided to ask, “I saw you with Lord Baratheon at the feast,” Daenerys had not missed that she was not the only one of the two of them who had a sudden interest in being a lady.

Arya turned to her, genuinely confused before realisation dawned upon her and she chuckled, “ _Gendry_ you mean,” Daenerys nodded, “Lord Baratheon… I don’t think it ever occurred to me to call him that,” a twinkle of mischief shone in her eyes.

“Arya, if I were to betrothed you to Gendry, would you like that?” Daenerys asked.

Arya choked, “what?” she turned to her.

“I mean no offense. You are free to make your own choices and to refuse me,” Daenerys said, “but I can tell you’re very fond of him,”

An uncharacteristic blush seemed to find its way to her face then and Daenerys noticed, not for the first time, that Arya had grown into a beautiful young lady; especially now with her cheeks blushing prettily. She did not reply.

“I could make it happen, Arya, as Queen. You are at the right age to wed,” Daenerys smiled, “as is Gendry. The Lord of Storm’s End would not refuse,”

Arya paused, her eyes not meeting Daenerys’, “I thought he would talk to me…about us…at the feast, when he asked me to dance, but he did not,” she said quietly, almost disappointed.

“Have the two of you ever spoken of marriage?” Daenerys asked.

Arya looked up then, shaking her head, “the contents of the letters we exchanged are nothing of importance. He would share with me how difficult it was to be Lord of Storm’s End and I would tell him how easy I had it at Winterfell,” she smiled forlornly.

“So you have never spoken of your feelings for each other?”

Arya’s cheeks began to colour again and she shook her head.

“I would assume you have not consummated your love as well,”

Arya choked and her face turned red, “Daenerys!”

Daenerys laughed, “I was only jesting, sister,” she smiled, “well, not about your feelings. Why have you not told Gendry how you feel?” she asked.

Arya sighed, “I did tell him I miss him and I wanted to see him. In the letters,” her shoulders drooped, “and he only said we would meet at the tourney,” her eyes looked sad and helpless as she looked at Daenerys, “I don’t think he likes me, honestly. I am just a little brother to him,”

Daenerys raised a brow. She had seen the face of the Lord of Storm’s End at the feast as he gazed upon the lady he danced with. There was no denying it; Daenerys saw it in Jon’s eyes as well, every time he looked at her and her at him, “that is not what I saw,” Daenerys commented airily, glancing amusedly as Arya straightened at her words. But Daenerys did not say more.

“Tell me,” Arya looked at her, her eyes hopeful as she beseeched.

Daenerys smiled, “if I were to propose the betrothal, he would not refuse,” she repeated simply, “and not because his Queen ordered it,”

“Really?” Arya’s brows knitted.

Daenerys nodded and a small smile curved over Arya’s lips then.

“It is good to have you back, sister,” Arya said suddenly, a grin on her face. Daenerys felt her middle warm as Arya addressed her as such; a member of the pack. Daenerys opened her arm to her and Arya stepped closer to her side, not a hint of hesitation, and hugged her firmly, “you are so warm,” Arya said and then teased, “no wonder Jon could not keep away. He spent his life in the North but never really learn to like the cold,”

Daenerys laughed.  

“Your Grace!”

Daenerys turned at the cry of alarm to see a knight stumbling back into her. At her side, she glimpsed her bloodriders begin to step forward and she instinctively brought her hand up to her belly protectively. Then suddenly, she felt a gloved hand close around her arm, yanking her to the side. She stumbled but was caught by the same person who had pulled her away.

The stumbling armoured knight crashed to the ground where Daenerys had stood, his sword flying out of his hand.

“You shouldn’t stand in the middle of the training yard,” a voice muttered.

She turned and looked up into the face of Jaime Lannister. She lowered her hands from his chest and stepped back. His arm around her loosened and he let her. Behind her, the knight scrambled to his knees, begging her forgiveness. Daenerys gestured for him to rise, “it was an accident, Ser. Be more careful,” she said and he bowed twice before he left.

She turned to Jaime Lannister. He looked better than the last time she saw him; when he had been dragged before her from his cell. He was wearing a leather brown tunic, a dagger and a sword on each hip. His eyes were fixed on her, sad. Without a word, she turned.

“Daenerys,” he croaked.

She paused, turning to look at him in disbelief, “I do not remember giving you leave to address me as such, Lord Lannister,”

His brows rose, as if in pain, and he swallowed, “forgive me, your Grace,” he bowed and Daenerys knew he was not asking forgiveness for how he addressed her, “forgive me,” he looked at her, pleading with her.

“You swore to obey me and you did not,” she said to him.

“I know I was being impulsive,” Jaime said quietly, his eyes downcast, “I was always impulsive… the things I do for love,” he mumbled the last part.

She blinked as she heard, just barely, “you forget yourself, Lord Lannister,” she said sharply.

“Jaime,” he said, and when his eyes met hers, she almost flinched at the pained look in them, as if he had been physically hurt, “you call me Jaime,” Daenerys turned away then but he spoke again, “let me stay to protect you at least,”

“You are no longer of my Queensguard,” she told him, not turning to look at him. When he did not say anymore, she walked out of the training yards.

Beside her, Arya fell in step, “what happened with Jaime Lannister?” she asked

Daenerys glanced sideways at her, “he commanded the Unsullied in my name without my consent,”    

Arya frowned, “what for?”

“To fight the Dothraki,” Daenerys replied.

“You and Jon fought the Dothraki, on the dragons,” Arya stated.

“He did not approve,” Daenerys slowed and stopped, turning to Arya, “so he went ahead to do as he liked,”

“What’s going to happen to him now?”

“I was going to burn him alive,” she said and Arya visibly blanched, “but Tyrion and Jon felt he would be more useful at Casterly Rock, commanding the Lannister army,”

“He was trying to help you, wasn’t he?” Arya asked.

“It doesn’t make what he did right,”

 

**_Jon_ **

Jon was hunched over the scrolls left on the table by Tyrion. He had been at this since he had left the horse racing competition, after he sat through the first 2 rounds in the morning. As he was scrawling his name at the bottom of a scroll to allow for the passing of a new law that the small council had discussed, he heard a knock. He put down his quill then, rolling up the scroll, “enter,” he heard the door open and heard approaching footsteps.

He looked up, expecting to see Tyrion turn the corner. But it wasn’t.

“Gendry,” Jon blinked, surprised to see him.

Gendry Baratheon approached. He looked the same apart from the yellow doublet he wore, stag’s antlers embroidered on the doublet and on his chest, a black stag. His black hair was cropped short. As he approached and bowed, Jon gestured for him to rise, “your Grace,”

“Apologies Gendry, I have not spoken with you since you have arrived,” Jon stood and came around the table, “and it’s still Jon,”

“There’s no need for apologies,” Gendry smiled as Jon came around and clasped his shoulders.

“How have you been?” Jon asked, looking into his piercing blue eyes.

“Being a Lord is not as easy as it looks,” Gendry replied, “I can only imagine how it must be for you, to rule over all the Kingdoms while I am struggling with just one,”

Jon smiled, “it gets easier when you get used to it,” he patted his shoulder, “you merely needed to adjust, to be a Lord. Everyone looked to you,” Gendry nodded and Jon paused, “you came to me, is there something I can help you with?”

Gendry ducked his head, shifting uncomfortably.

“Speak your mind, Gendry,”

Then he straightened, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked at him. But through his façade, Jon could see that he was nervous; his blue eyes darting even as he struggled to keep them focussed, “Your Grace, I-“ Gendry paused and Jon held his tongue to correct him this time, not wanting to rattle the poor lad’s nerves anymore, “I would like to ask you for the hand of Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell in marriage,”

Jon stared, stunned.

Gendry looked down then, “I know this is sudden and I am not sure who I should be asking since-“ he hesitated, “but you are the King and her brother, who she loves and respects.”

As Jon got over his initial shock, he cleared his throat, “Gendry… this _is_ indeed quite sudden,” he paused, “but I’m afraid I’m not in a position to give you my sister’s hand in marriage. I am not her father and even if I was, she is old enough to make that decision herself,”

Gendry nodded then, his eyes lowering.

Jon said, “but,” Gendry looked up, “if you love Arya, you have my blessing to court her,” Jon smiled.

Gendry blinked, “court her?” he seemed confused, “how-?”

Now it was Jon’s turn to shift uncomfortably, “I suppose I have heard from Sansa and Jeyne back in Winterfell that gifts should be given during courtship,”

Gendry frowned, “what kind of gifts?”

Jon grimaced, “Gendry, I would never presume to know much of courtship. I doubt I am in the best position to advise you on such matters,”

Gendry seemed to panic then, looking about the room before he stared at Jon, “well, how did you court the Queen?” Gendry asked desperately.

“I…didn’t,” Jon replied simply and Gendry cracked an amused smile, “we were at war, there was no time for that,” Jon said defensively.

“There was time for love,” Gendry pointed out, “there always seem to be...” his voice trailed off.

Jon paused and pondered, “Daenerys… is not like the other ladies,” _well, she was never a lady. She is a Queen. How do you court a Queen?_

“And Arya is not like any other ladies either,” Gendry pointed out, “not that I know a lot of ladies before her but I think you are in the perfect position to advise me,”

Jon sighed and sat down in his chair behind the desk, “well, what do you want to know?”

“How did you tell the Queen how you felt?” Gendry asked, taking a seat opposite him.

Jon massaged his temples, “I didn’t, Gendry,” Gendry frowned, confused, “she knew. She saw. And she felt the same way and we-“ Jon paused, “we’re different from how you and Arya can be. We were in the middle of a war and now you’re not. It’s a better way, a happier one. You can court her, like how a Lord should court a Lady. And if Arya feels the same way, you will have my blessing,”

Gendry pondered then and nodded, “how do you know if a lady is fond of you?”

Jon furrowed his brows and he almost laughed as he realised he was being consulted about courtship and ladies, “I don’t know, Gendry. Daenerys just… told me. She is forward in that way,”

“That would make things so much simpler,” Gendry muttered and Jon laughed.

“I can’t advise you as a man but I can tell you this, as her brother, Arya would appreciate it if you are honest with her,” Jon said.

Gendry’s eyes widened, “so I just come out and tell her how I feel?”

“Like what you said, Arya is not like any other ladies,”

With that, Gendry nodded and left, still pondering. Jon chuckled to himself then, shaking his head. Now that he thought of it, Daenerys was truly unlike any lady Jon knew from Winterfell. She did not need to be courted. She knew what she wanted and when she wanted it. She had wanted him.

Sometimes Jon thought if that was who she is or merely because she had not been brought up in Westeros and has not received a formal education that a lady would. He smiled as he wondered if Daenerys would abhor learning etiquette, as Arya did, or would she have been like Sansa, dreaming of princes, had her life not been so wrought with hardship.

Then he heard a soft knock and he smiled. _Daenerys_.

He heard the door open and Jon set aside the scrolls, rising from his chair to meet her, unable to keep the smile from his face. He heard someone enter, a flutter of fabric and heard footsteps approaching. Jon rounded his table and stood before the table, his hands tingling with the anticipation of holding her again. Then a figure turned the corner and he froze. Arianne Martell stood before him.

She was naked.

He felt his breath caught. She was a voluptuous woman, her breasts large but her waist small. Her legs were shapely as she approached him, her wide hips swaying gracefully.

“What are you doing?” he asked, tensed.

“I seek an audience, my King,” she replied simply, stopping a distance from him.

“Get out,” he growled, keeping his eyes on hers.

“Are you sure?” she only sauntered closer.

“I told you, I will only have one Queen and I already am married to her. I will never marry you,” he seethed.

She stood before him, her dark nipples brushing against his leather jerkin, “who is saying anything about marriage now?” he made to step back but he was already pressed against the table, “take me here, now, my King,” she insistently leaned closer.

Jon glowered at her, “I would only ever want the Queen,” he felt his groin begin to stiffen and he felt his stomach turn in disgust.

Her eyes narrowed and then she smirked, “she’s free to join us,” her breasts were now fully pressed against his chest. Jon’s hands curled into fists by his side but he stilled his hand. He knew his honour forbid that he would ever strike or even raise a hand to a woman but at her words, he thought he could. Then she continued, “you are fool, my King, staying faithful to the Queen. Do you think a woman like her has not had a thousand men before you and does not have a thousand men in her bed even now? As long as it pleases her, with one word from her, her own Queensguard would fuck her however she likes. He is already in love with her,”  

Jon froze. _Jaime Lannister._

 _I do not love him. And I could not marry him when I loved another, when I wanted another so much._ He could still hear her say to him.

Jon replied Arianne then, strangely calm, “she could for she is beautiful. But she doesn’t,” he seethed, “why do you dishonour yourself, Lady Martell?”

“Honour?” she laughed, “we are made to love and to make love, and that is all that should be important,” she craned her neck, her lips coming closer to his and Jon leaned back, “I want my King now. I don’t have to be your Queen. Take me as a paramour and we will discuss the allegiance in a different light,”

Jon froze, staring at her incredulously. She was truly offering Dorne, in exchange for her own personal pleasure. He had not notice her hand on his abdomen before with her breasts pressed up against his chest like that. But he jumped when her hand closed firmly around his groin, which was already straining against his breeches.

Immediately, he shoved her away, hard. She stumbled back into the chair heavily, momentarily shocked.

Then a smirk crossed her features, her eyes fixed on his groin, “oh my foolish King, you want me,”

Jon felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed effortfully, glaring at her. When he was confident he could talk without throwing up, he growled, “you are mad,” he turned from her, taking a deep breath.

“Mad with lust for you, my King,” she smirked.

Jon turned to her, “Get. Out.” His voice low and quiet; dangerous. His hand closed almost instinctively around the pommel of the dagger at his hip, the dagger Daenerys had bought for him. At that moment, one of the rare few in his life, he contemplated murder. Fear flittered across her face as she looked into his eyes.

He watched as she stood from the chair slowly, “you will come to regret this. You are a fool, Aegon Targaryen,” she told him calmly. Then she bent to pick up her clothing and she disappeared around the corner. He released the breath he did not realise he was holding when he heard the door open and then close.

Jon buried his face in his hands as he sank into his chair, feeling shame settle deep in his stomach.  

 

**_Daenerys_ **

Arya had left her to go back to the training yard, she had apparently promised Jaehaerys she would train with him for the day.

Daenerys walked to Maegor’s Holdfast. She had heard the King has returned from the horse racing event this morning. As she rose the steps, she wondered if Jon would be in their chambers, looking for her. Then a queer feeling that she could not explain came to her and she knew he would not go to their chambers. He had wanted her to rest so he would expect her to be there and not bother her. At that thought, she turned to walk towards the royal chancery where she had learned that Jon had always worked in. At her heels, her two Dothraki bloodriders kept close.

She was going to tell him about what Arya had told her and of Daenerys’ intention to propose a betrothal between Arya and Gendry. At the thought of how he might react, probably completely surprised, she smiled. At the thought of the smile he always had so readily for her, and if Tyrion’s words were to be believed, only her, she quickened her pace.

Then her smile faded as she came upon the chancery only to see not just the Kingsguards outside but two Dornish men as well. She frowned. Worry filled her as she recalled the warning from her bloodriders about Arianne Martell, _a poisonous viper_. She approached the chancery. The Kingsguards bowed to her and the Dornish men nodded to her. She gestured for her bloodriders to stay outside and she opened the door to the chancery.

The large table with two rows of chairs, where the monarch could call for a meeting, was empty. She was about to turn into the office, where she knew the desk of the King was when she saw it. A yellow garb on the floor, Dornish garb.

She felt the blood drain her from her body and the air in the room suddenly felt too cold. Quietly, she stepped forward, closer to the abandoned garb and closer to the corner where if she turned, she would see into the King’s office.

She froze as she heard a laugh; a woman’s laugh, “we are made to love and to make love, and that is all that should be important. I want my King now. I don’t have to be your Queen. Take me as a paramour and we will discuss the allegiance in a different light,”

Daenerys letting out a shaky breath, she knew she should confront it, she should walk into the office and see the truth for herself. She felt her clasped hands tightened. She willed her anger to fuel her, to make her brave, as she always did in battle but this time, there was no rage in her; none for her to summon. She only felt fear and it was suffocating her.

_Jon would never._

At that thought, she made to take a purposeful step forward.

“Oh my foolish King, you want me,” she moaned, the voice thick, sultry. A statement.

In that moment, for all Daenerys Targaryen was, had been and had accomplished, she turned tail and fled from the room.

_A coward._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is not perfect yet but I thought I would not keep you guys waiting any longer (especially on new years eve, that would be cruel!). Hope you guys enjoy reading this! I enjoyed writing it; to explore and step into parts of the characters that I have not written but think exist (as they do in everyone - come on, we all have our insecure moments).

**_Jaime_ **

He knew he should not but he had not stop watching her since she came to the training yards. Between her silver hair and white dress, she caught his attention and that of every knights’ in the training yard on her arrival. She was beautiful and when she smiled, she glowed. He was transfixed, watching her every expression, her every laugh as she spoke with Arya Stark.

He had seen her face when she saw him at the tourney. She detested him and Jaime knew, this was his own fault. He had been impulsive and for once in his life, he felt the price he had to pay for it, like a knife in his heart. And every time the Queen looked at him, she twisted the knife.

He knew no matter how much the Queen loathe him, he could not help but love her for even if she did loathe him, she had her reasons, the ones he gave her. He had overstepped a line she had drawn after years of betrayal. But her heart was still pure and kind. There was no evil in her; like there had been in Cersei and Jaime was helplessly drawn to her. He found his feet following her as she left the training yard, from a distance.

She walked into Maegor’s Holdfast and Jaime knew she was looking for the King. She loved him. Jaime saw it in the way she looked at the King; how she would listen to him like she would no other.

He watched from around the corner as she entered the chancery. Then he frowned, spotting two Dornish men outside among the King and Queensguard. He felt an urge to stand guard at the door, ready to burst into the room at her cry but he knew the sight of him would only upset her now so Jaime stayed where he was, peering around a corner. _Always_ _a Queensguard_. Jaime almost laughed at that thought.

Then, too soon, the door opened and his Queen emerged. Jaime felt relief for a moment before he knew something was wrong. Her head was bowed so low he could barely see her face but what he saw of it, he felt it right in his heart. Without a word or even a look to her bloodriders, she turned and quickly walk down the corridor, almost running. Jaime pressed himself against the wall as she walked past but he barely had to, she did not look up. He had never seen her cry before but he recognised what he glimpsed; her chin quivering, her eyes welled with tears and her face puckered. She was on the verge of crying if she was not already.

Jaime frowned, confused. Then the door opened and Jaime peered around the corner to see Arianne Martell exiting. He blinked, surprised to see her fastening her yellow dornish garb by the sash at her waist. She nodded to her guards before she headed down the corridor, the opposite direction of where the Queen went. It did not take much for Jaime to figure out what had upset the Queen, what she might have seen.

Seething with anger then, he briskly took off down the corridor, after Arianne Martell.

He caught up to her as she reached her chambers. But instead of entering, she turned around and looked at him, not in the least surprised.

Jaime tensed in caution.

“Can I help you with anything, Kingslayer?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at him. _There’s the look._

“Can I speak with you? Alone,” he glanced to her guards.

She smirked, and nodded to them. She was not afraid of him. _Why would she be?_ He was a man with only one hand and she was exceedingly skilled in combat. She opened the door to her chambers and entered. The guards did not follow as they stood at the door. After she disappeared into the room, Jaime followed. He closed the door behind him. Her chambers were large and complete with a balcony overlooking the city. Tyrion did aim to please the Dornish guest. There was a sharp scent of herbs, _or poison_. Jaime could not be sure but he did not come here to see her chambers.

He turned to her then. She was watching him, her arms crossed before her. Jaime could not see any weapons on her. He knew she could be hiding a dagger under that robe but something told him, she was bare underneath.

She raised her brows questioningly, “what do you want to talk about?” she smirked at him.

There was no need to play games with the Dornish, “what are your intentions with the King?” Jaime demanded.

He pursed his lips as she laughed, “my intentions?”

The Queen’s pained face swam into his mind and he bristled, “you were alone with the King in the chancery,”

She smirked, “yes I was,”

“What do you want?” he glared at her.

“The King,” she replied simply, as if she was telling him what she wanted for supper. She then stalked forward, closer to him, “and if I had not read your longing gazes wrongly, you want the Queen,” he tensed, “come now, there’s only us here, let’s not be coy with each other, Kingslayer,”

He had heard of Arianne Martell’s exotic beauty, sexual prowess and her tendency to treat men like game. And he had heard of her weakness, almost a helpless attraction, for handsome and forbidden men. Many married men abandoned their families for her but she grew bored of them and they were left with nothing; they were too easy. The King was too honourable to be won over by her seduction easily and _handsome and forbidden._ He was a good challenge that she could not pass up on.

“She is my Queen,” he replied, “and he is my King,”  

She narrowed her eyes, transfixed on him, “A loyal Lannister,” she smirked, “I thought they didn’t exist,”

Jaime ignored her, “the King will never want you back,” _he’s too honourable for it, like Ned Stark was. The man died for honour._

“I could say the same for the Queen and you,” she replied without missing a beat, “I think our goals are aligned,”

He turned to her in disbelief, “no, they are not,” he scowled darkly at her but she was unfazed.

Arianne Martell raised a perfectly sculptured brow, “aren’t they? You want the Queen and I want the King. Neither of us can get what we want without helping the other,” she shrugged, “I have heard you are not the sharpest Lannister around, that title goes to your little brother, but I thought even you would understand an opportunity when it comes knocking,”

He took a step to her, towering over her, “if you think I will stand by and allow you to tear them apart or help you do so, you are mistaken,” he snapped.

Her brows furrowed then but there was a small smirk still on her lips. She was studying him as if he was a puzzle, “you do not merely want the Queen…you great fool of a Lannister, it is true that you have fallen in love with her. Her own Queensguard. Well, now no longer her Queensguard so it just makes you a lovesick fool,” Jaime tensed at the plain truth in her words, “I heard stories, rumours about it, but never really thought it to be true until I came and saw it for myself,” he gritted his teeth, green eyes holding her dark almond shaped ones, “you want to protect her,”

“So you understand that I would never help you and I would not allow you to harm her,” he hissed.

Arianne Martell rolled her eyes then, “what makes you think you can stop me?” she smirked, “the King… is honourable but all men are the same, they want one thing and one thing only. Something I provide, and very well,” she sauntered closer to him.

“So I have heard but you know better than anyone, the King is not like any other men,” he replied, deadpanned, “and you want him more because of it,”

She feigned a look of surprise then, “Jaime Lannister, you really aren’t as dull as they say, are you? Not just a pretty face then,” he stared at her blankly, uninterested with her games. He had spent his life watching women like her play them, one of whom was his own sister and lover. _Even the stupidest Lannister would learn eventually._ She gazed up at him a moment longer before she let out a resigned breath and said, “what if I tell you it is better for the realm if they were apart?”

Jaime blinked, “what are you saying?” he had his suspicions before but he knew for a fact Dorne did not have the numbers to usurp the Crown and Arianne Martell was anything but stupid.

“What if by separating the King and Queen, you would save thousands of lives? What if the realm is better with Aegon Targaryen on the throne and a Dornish Queen at his side?” she asked airily but Jaime knew there was more to it.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

She turned and face him, “if the King is not mine, House Targaryen would truly meet its end this time,”

“If Dorne means to start a war with the Crown-“

She scoffed, “there are many who want the Queen dead, Dorne is merely one of them-“

At her words, he could not contain his rage. He took two steps towards her and grabbed her slim neck before she could reach for a weapon. The skin was soft under his gloved left hand. Her eyes bugged as he squeezed mercilessly. He had half a mind set on breaking her neck then. Her hands came up to claw at his hand but her nails scratched at his leather glove uselessly. Then predictably, her knee came up, towards his groin but he blocked it roughly with his right golden hand; sure he bruised it, at the least. 

“The Queen is trying to be diplomatic and as her Queensguard, I should abide by her wishes. But as you have pointed out, I am no longer of her Queensguard. I am Jaime of House Lannister and I am warning you, if you ever hurt my Queen in any way, or even _touch_ her, I will kill you,” he seethed, “I would let thousands die before I let anything happen to her,” Her dark eyes were locked with his, her mouth agape and gasping. Her face begun to turn blue.

He let her go then, watching as she gasped for air, coughing. Her hand massaging her bruised neck.

She turned to him fiercely, her dark eyes flashing in anger, “I will remember that, Kingslayer,”

Jaime glared at her, “good,” he turned and left.

 

**_Jon_ **

He stretched in his chair. He glanced out the window absently and was alarmed to see it was dark already. He had resumed his work in hope to keep his mind off the incident and lessen the feeling of guilt and shame after Arianne Martell had left his chambers. He was so absorbed in reading the scrolls, he had not realised how late it was. He frowned worriedly. He had not heard from Daenerys since the morning.

He then called for his squire and Gawan Glover shuffled in, bowing.

“Is there any word from the Queen?” he asked, trying to get rid of the tenseness in the muscles of his shoulders, the result of being hunched over scrolls for too long.

Gawan shook his head, “No, your Grace,”

Jon furrowed his brows. He nodded then and stood, walking briskly out of the chancery, aware of his squire following him. He headed straight for their chambers, hoping she would be there, resting as he had wanted her to and charged Missandei to ensure. He approached their chambers to see that there were no guards outside but for the Unsullied who guarded the corridors. He opened the door to the solar nonetheless and it was empty. He checked the sleeping chambers and the bed was made.  

He paused, wondering where she might be. It was unlike Daenerys to stay away from him for the entire duration of the day.

 _Do you think a woman like her has not had a thousand men before you and does not have a thousand men in her bed even now?_ The words floated into his mind, quiet and seemingly harmless until it took root and now would not release him.   _As long as it pleases her, with one word from her, her own Queensguard would fuck her however she likes. He is already in love with her._

As he stood at the door, he glanced down the corridor towards Jaime Lannister’s chambers; the guest chambers where he resided after being expelled from the Queensguard and so, the white sword tower.

 _No. Daenerys would never._ He told himself firmly. _Especially now… when she is with child._ My _child. Not Jaime Lannister’s._

At the thought of her pregnancy, panic began to claw at him at the thought that something could have happened to her and he has not been informed. He turned and ran out the chambers. As he came to the Maesters’ laboratory, he burst into the room.

There was only Sam inside and he jumped in alarm when Jon entered. Sam got to his feet, “Jon? I-I mean Your Grace-“

“Did something happen to the Queen?” Jon demanded.

Sam seemed surprised, “no,” he replied, “if something did, no one called for the Grand Maester or me,”

His words did nothing to quell the panic rising in Jon. _Where could she be? What if she has fallen ill and has no one with her? What if she was taken by one of the many visitors she has allowed into the Red Keep? What if-_

“Jon? What’s wrong?” Sam asked, coming to stand before him.

Jon turned to him, “I have neither seen nor heard from the Queen all day,” he said and realised how stupid and childish it sounded. He added mutely, “it is not like Daenerys to not have come to me,”

“Nor is it like you to not have gone to her earlier,” Sam pointed out, amused and in good humour. But Jon clenched his fists at that, averting Sam’s gaze. He had buried himself in work out of shame for how his body had reacted with Arianne Martell. But Jon knew that he had done so, also to give him a reason to keep Daenerys away. He knew he should tell her what has happened; as he should have told her what Arianne said at the feast, but Jon did not know how, “why haven’t you?”

“I’m looking for her now, Sam,” Jon replied curtly, the tone that signalled the end of that line of conversation. Sam blinked, surprised at his tone, “I’m sorry,” he closed his eyes, “Arianne Martell…” he glanced around the empty room before he continued, “she came to meet me today,” Sam nodded, not sensing anything wrong with that, “she was naked. She wanted me to…” Jon paused as Sam’s eyes bugged, “for us to-“ Jon sighed.

“Well, to do it…” Sam nodded, “so…did you?” he frowned.

Jon looked up glaring, “of course I didn’t!” he snapped, “I don’t love her! I love Daenerys. And I could never do that to Daenerys!” Sam’s brows rose and Jon knew he was overreacting, “how can you even ask me that?”

Sam shrugged, “well… you said she was naked and she is very beautiful and I know sometimes in those circumstances, it can be....difficult,” Sam hesitated, “what happened?”

Jon closed his eyes and took a breath to calm himself to speak, “she-“ Jon paused, “she touched me…” Sam’s eyes widened again and darted down. Jon quickly added, “but I sent her away then, I never touched her!”

“I believe you, Jon,” Sam said calmly, trying to comfort him but the words did nothing for Jon. He knew those words would only bring him comfort if Daenerys was the one who uttered them. Jon sank into an empty chair beside him and buried his face in his hands.

“I don’t know how I am going to tell Daenerys this,” Jon muttered.

 _Telling Sam was already humiliating enough_.

Jon did not know if he could endure having to look into Daenerys’ eyes and see a moment of doubt and mistrust for him in them. Then he entertained the thought that maybe he need not tell her but if he did not, _there would only be better and better lies_. Those were his words. “I don’t even know where Daenerys is,” Jon rubbed his forehead, frustrated.

“Well, to tell her, you move your mouth and your tongue and form the words,” Sam said simply. Jon looked up, annoyed. But the frown on his face lightened when he saw Sam’s smile and the twinkle in his eyes that told Jon he was only teasing, “whatever happens, she has taken you for a husband, you are hers and she is yours; from that day-“

“Until her last day,” Jon murmured. He felt himself relax, just slightly. Daenerys had taken to whisper those words to him when they were together and it made him feel loved and lucky beyond measure, to have her, all of her and she loved him with all her heart.  

“And I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. The Queen has the Queensguard with her,” Sam assured and Jon nodded absently, “have you looked in the Prince’s chambers?”

Jon looked at him then, “I haven’t,” he realised, “thank you Sam,” he forced a smile at his friend.

Sam smiled, and nodded, “well, go on,”

Jon glanced at him before he took off.

When he came to the Prince’s chambers, he sighed in relief to see the crowd of guards outside the door. He nodded to Ser Umber and Ser Manderly, who were charged with protecting the Prince, and then to Ser Jorah and one of Daenerys’ Dothraki bloodriders, Aggo. He gestured for the Kingsguards following him to stay outside. Then he opened the door.

The solar was empty but a small fire was crackling in the fireplace. Before the fire, the white direwolf was sprawled over the carpet, his head on his folded paws. Jon felt his heart skip a beat as he thought he had glimpsed Ghost; his own direwolf who had been loyal till the end. Now, as time dulled the pain of the loss to an ache, he was glad his son would have a friendship and protector like that.

At the sound of the door opening, the direwolf lifted its head. Suvion was still a little more than a pup but he had grown visibly, some would say monstrously but Jon was not surprised. Jaehaerys has been feeding him, almost constantly. Ghost had grown that quickly as well. Jon went to the direwolf and crouched, letting Suvion sniff his hand. He licked his hand in approval before lowering his head again. Jon smiled, patting the direwolf on its head before he rose and turned to the chambers.

The door to the sleeping chambers were ajar and Jon approached quietly, feeling relief flood him like a soothing balm as he glimpsed two heads of silver hair from where he stood. Jon stepped closer to Daenerys’ side. She was lying on her side, her lips pressed against the crown of Jaehaerys’ head. Her body was curled around Jaehaerys’ small curled up form, his back pressed snugly to her. Her arm was around Jaehaerys. Jon smiled as he noticed Jaehaerys holding her hand firmly even in his sleep.

He hunched over the bed as he reached for her, longing for the feel of her. Jon gently brushed aside her silver hair from her face and proceeded to stroke her hair. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She stirred then. He watched her eyes flutter open, dazed at first as they looked about the room. Then they settled on him. Her eyes looked dark purple in the dim light.

A small smile curved into her lips then and Jon felt a smile spread over his face unwittingly. But then something flickered in her eyes and her smile faded. He was perplexed as she averted his eyes then, turning back to notice Jaehaerys in her arms. She stroked his hair with her free hand. Jon knelt by the bed then placing a hand on her waist. He felt her stiffen under his touch and it confused and stung him that she has reacted so.

“Daenerys,” he whispered, “Jaehaerys is asleep. Come, you should be resting as well,”

Without looking at him, she replied quietly, her voice curiously void, “I will rest here tonight,”

Jon frowned, “may I ask why?”

She hesitated, “I promised Jaehaerys I will stay the night,”

“He is already sound asleep,” Jon moved to sit on the small space beside her, “he would not notice you have gone,” he gently caressed her shoulder and arm. He needed her tonight, to tell her what has happened and know that she would still love him, once she knew.

“I will stay the night,” Daenerys repeated, her voice quiet but strangely firm; not unlike the voice of the regal Queen she was in the throne room and in council meetings. She was still not looking at him. Then she closed her eyes to sleep, shifting so her nose was in Jaehaerys’ hair.

Jon flinched, “Daenerys-“ he hesitated. Then he sighed in resignation. Hunching over he pressed a kiss to her temple, “rest well. I love you,” he whispered, gazing at her. She did not respond, her face barely twitched. It stung him but he pressed another kiss to her hair on the side of her head before he straightened. She was unmoving, seemingly already asleep but Jon could tell she was not. Her shoulders were tensed and her breathing uneven and shallow.

He turned then and walked out of the chambers.

 _I love you too._ He spun around as he swore he heard a whisper. But Daenerys’ eyes were still closed. She had not moved. Jon sighed, and supposed it was his imagination.

In the solar, Suvion lifted its head as Jon approached.

“Hey boy,” he whispered softly. He glanced to the door, contemplating to return to his chambers but then, he sank into the chair in the solar instead, watching the fire dancing in the fireplace. Jon knew he would not get much sleep alone in their chamber. Suvion rose from his spot and lay down at his feet. Jon smiled, reaching down to run his fingers through the direwolf’s white fur for a while before he leaned back in the chair. He gazed into the fire, determined to ponder what may be bothering Daenerys. But soon, he was nodding off and fell asleep, his head against the hard wooden back of the chair.

 

**_Daenerys_ **

“Jon,” he was standing at a distance, looking at her. He was wearing the royal garbs he usually wore in court and upon his raven locks, he wore his crown. His dark grey eyes were looking unblinkingly at her, lovingly, in the way that made her blush. He was handsome. He was lovely. And he was hers. Her heart quickened at that thought and more so when he smiled at her. His smiles were so rare and it pleased her to know he kept them for her. He always smiled the brightest when they were alone.  

She reached a hand out to him.

His smile widened and he started walking towards her. As he neared, he reached out for her. As his fingers were about to touch hers, he suddenly turned from her.

A bright light shone from behind him, blinding her. She squinted against the light, bringing up a hand to shield her eyes. Her chest tightened as Jon’s outstretched arm dropped to his side. He was no longer looking at her. She followed his gaze into the light to see a sun. The sun was bright and she could feel the heat licking at her skin, something she usually welcomed but then Jon turned from her, walking away. Her skin turned to ice as she realised he was leaving; leaving her behind.

“Jon,” she felt panic crept up her throat, threatening to strangle her, “Jon,” she called him insistently. He turned to her and her breath hitched in her throat. His eyes were cold, angry and he was no longer smiling. She opened her mouth, _stay_ , she wanted to say. _Don’t leave me_. But her voice seemed lost to her and she could only watch as Jon turned towards the sun and walked away. She watched his silhouette till her eyes started to water; from watching him leave or because of the light, she did not know. As his silhouette started to disappear from view, panic gripped her, “Jon, don’t leave me,” she whispered pathetically but he was gone.

The sun shone brighter, as if mocking her and she sank to her knees, quietly letting her tears fall.

“ _Muña_!”

Her head snapped up and her eyes widened, “Jaehaerys?”

“ _Muña_!” she turned around to see him standing there. He looked so small and scared.

“Jaehaerys,” she opened her arms to him and he ran into her arms without a moment’s hesitation. His little body pressed up against her, his arms wrapped around her neck tightly and his little face buried into her neck. His body was warm, like hers and Daenerys felt it warm her heart. His little body was shaking, “Don’t be afraid, Mother’s here,” she whispered. He nodded, pressing his tiny body closer to hers, as if wishing he could hide in her. She too wished she could keep him in her and protect him, from anyone or anything.

Gently, she held his shoulder and pulled him away. He clung onto her neck for a moment longer.

“Jaehaerys…” she said gently and felt his arms loosened but not enough, “ _Jaelan naejot ūndegon aōha byka laehurlion_ (I want to see your little face),” she whispered, ticking his middle and he squealed. He pulled away.

She cupped his face gently, “Jaehaerys,” she whispered and he looked at her, a grin on his face, his grey eyes twinkling happily, “my boy,” she caressed his cheek with her thumb and gazing at his face, her heart filled with joy and love for her child.

Then all of a sudden, behind Jaehaerys, Daenerys glimpsed a darkness, creeping towards them like dancing flames. Instantly, she gripped Jaehaerys and pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him possessively. She made to carry him away but she realised she could not move her legs. She could not even stand. She watched, horror filled as the darkness touched Jaehaerys. He whimpered, his arms tightening around her neck. The darkness seemed to cling onto Jaehaerys and she could only watch as the darkness engulfed him.

When the darkness crept away, her arms closed around nothing. _Jaehaerys. JAEHAERYS! NO!_

She opened her eyes then, feeling unbearably hot. Looking around, her heart thumping in her chest and blood rushing in her ears, she could barely see anything in the darkness. Then she glimpsed some light at the foot of the bed. She began to shift but paused as the body beside her stirred. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw her son, sleeping restlessly in her arms.

Relief flooded into her then. Gently, careful not to wake him, she tightened her arms around him and buried her face into his silver hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Then, unable to bear the heat any longer, she slowly extracted her arms from around him and slipped out of bed. As she sat up, she felt a soft but undeniable flutter in her middle.

She froze.

She looked down at her middle, bringing her hands up and pressing her palms over the small swell of her belly.

Then there was another flutter and her heart skipped a beat, “shhh,” she cooed, “everything is alright, little one,” and she knew she was trying and failing to assure herself. She swallowed, her throat was parched and her nightdress was sticking uncomfortably to her clammy skin.

She had remembered waking up to Jon’s kisses and for a moment, joy filled her but then she had remembered why she was where she was, in their son’s bed rather than in his arms. Then she noticed how late it was; how long he was away and with _her._

The joy slipped away as if she has been trying to hold water with her bare hands all this while. Then she had insisted to stay and her heart had wrenched as she listened to his quiet footsteps and then the door closing behind him. She knew she only had herself to blame for she had sent him away when she had really wanted to him to stay with her; to chase away the images of him being with Arianne Martell.

“I love you too,” she had whispered, almost frantically, too soft for him to hear. She wanted him to kiss her and hold her and tell her he love her. She wanted him to tell her he would only ever love her, only ever want her. But she did not. She was not sure if she could bear it if he were to tell her he has been with another.

Slowly, she stood to get herself a drink of water. She carefully found her way in the dark to the door and when she opened it, she first noticed the dying fire in the fireplace. Then she noticed a figure slumped in the chair by the fireplace and the white direwolf at his feet.

She shuffled, barefoot, to him, hesitant. Daenerys felt herself tensed as if readying for the hurt that would ensue when she saw him and would be reminded of what had happened. But she only saw Jon; her husband, her lover, her King. Her heart skipped a beat as it always did when she saw him.

He was slumped uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair, his head lolled to the side on his shoulder. She approached and at his feet, Suvion’s ears perked and he lifted his head. She smiled at the wolf and the wolf watched her for a moment before he padded towards the sleeping chambers quietly, nudging aside the ajar door and slipping in. He was going to keep Jaehaerys company and she silently thanked the direwolf.

She quietly knelt beside the chair, a hand on the handle, beside his hand but not touching him. She froze as he furrowed his brows but then his face relaxed and he settled again. His eyes were moving aimlessly behind his eyelids and she held her breath, wondering what he was dreaming of. Did he dream of her? Did he dream of them together? Were they happy in his dream?

Her gaze trailed over his defined nose, his strong jaw, his cropped beard and his lips; where her gaze lingered, where she knew he was gentlest. Her husband was an attractive man, he truly was and she knew not only to her. She noticed the way handmaidens would whisper excitedly as the King walked by and the way he had attracted interested looks of girls as they walked the streets of King’s Landing that day.

He, however, seemed to not have noticed. He always seemed to be on guard, watching for any signs of danger and when he was not, he was watching her. He could not keep his hands off her that day, a hand under her cloak on the small of her back or in hers. Daenerys knew he loved her, she could see it plainly in his eyes every time he looked at her.

And he has a good heart, she saw it in the way he listened intently to the trivial problems of the smallfolk in court, as if they were his own problems. And she saw it in how he had helped a squire to his feet and picked up his sword when the squire was knocked into the dirt at the training yard. It was as if he did not see that the boy was only a squire. Jon had trained with that squire that day. She smiled as she recalled. The poor squire had been terrified to be sparring with the King but Jon had given him a few pointers and the squire eventually grew more confident.

A man like Jon Snow was almost impossible for Daenerys to even imagine would exist and yet here he was, her King; handsome, kind and honourable. He was a man who was willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of others, and he did. In return, he wanted nothing. He had not even want to be King. He was happy just to have her; someone so broken with madness lurking within, someone so undeserving of him.

He loved her. He had waited for her, for four years, and he loved her in all of those four years; even while she could not love him back. What more could she ask of him? What else could she even dare to ask of him?

Jon Snow deserved to have everything he wanted and even then, he only ever wanted so little, and asked for even less. Now he wanted _her._ And for all he had done for Daenerys, for their son, for the Realm, _what was a paramour in comparison to that?_

As she gazed at him then, Daenerys realised she would allow every happiness in this world to him; even if it came in the form of another woman sharing his bed.

Even if the mere thought of it ripped her apart.

As long as Jon was happy, she would be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime-haters, don't kill me. There was no Dany/ Jaime action to justify me giving a warning at the beginning and spoiling it all for everyone. 
> 
> Well, thank you guys for reading and for staying and having faith in this story! 
> 
> Happy New Year :) have a good one!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut warning!!

**_Daenerys_ **

Daenerys felt a peace settle in her then.

She reached up gently and trailed the tips of her fingers along the side of his face. Then she took his hand that was on the armrest, in between hers. She brought it to her lips and kissed his knuckles, over the calluses that he had gained from punching a thug who had slighted her honour with his words.

Jon stirred then, his hand clasping hers back. She smiled warmly as his eyes fluttered open. A soft groan escaped his lips as he straightened his neck.

“Daenerys?” he croaked when he saw her, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Why did you not return to your chambers?” she asked quietly, his hand still between hers and she held it over her heart.

Jon looked at her with tired eyes as he said, “I never really could sleep without you there beside me, despite trying, for four years,” he seemed to be ashamed as he averted her gaze, “there would always be dreams…the terrible ones,”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He shook his head and admitted, “I haven’t had a single one of those since you woke,” he then glanced over her and sat up in alarm as he realised she was kneeling over the concrete, “Dany!” he tugged her up, “you’ll catch a chill,” he chided gently and she watched him, amused as she rose to her feet. He pulled her to him and she went, settling into his lap, an arm over his shoulder. It was as if her body knew its way around his as his knew hers. His arm circled her waist gently, holding her close to him.

“I don’t catch chills,” she whispered and it was true, even in the North during the Great War, she had felt cold but she did not fall ill to it as Missandei had and many of the Dothraki and Unsullied had.

Jon smiled, “aye,” he cupped her cheek, “why are _you_ awake?” he asked, raising his brows. 

“I-“ _had a bad dream._ She hesitated.

“A dream?” he asked.

Daenerys stared at him. _How did he know?_ She nodded.

“Is it bad? Tell me,” he said, his eyes soft as he gazed at her, his face open and honest. _You left me._

She paused and taking a deep breath, she decided there was no better time to tell him than now. She shook her head, dismissing his question. “Jon,” she placed a hand over his, which was gently caressing her cheek, “I would not mind it if you want a paramour,”

He paled.

She placed her head on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck, “as long as it pleases you,” the words left her easy enough but she could not will away the strain in her voice; the only thing that hinted at the turmoil within, the raw agony sinking its claws into her heart as she allowed another woman into his arms.

Jon drew her away from him quickly, a furrow between his brows, “Daenerys, why would you even think of it?”

Daenerys paused and she averted his eyes, “I was looking for you earlier today… at the chancery,”

Jon froze.

“I know she was with you. I heard what she said to you,” she forced a smile and her gaze dropped to his chest, “I heard how much you…wanted her-“

Jon tensed beneath her then, “oh Daenerys,” he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into his arms, cradling her head to his chest “nothing happened,” he told her, shaking his head furiously, “I swear it, _nothing_ ,“ he hissed angrily, “she came to me, naked. She wanted to-“ he paused, “but we did not and I asked her to leave. I-my body just…reacted,” he murmured. Then his voice said firmly, “but I know I would never!”

Silence fell as he stopped. His heart was beating wildly in her chest, she could hear it. He took in a shaky breath. He was evidently upset. _He is afraid. Why-_

Jon then drew her away from him gently, holding her shoulders, “Dany, why would I want to be with anyone else when I have you?” he cradled her face in his hands, “the loveliest woman in this world, the most beautiful,” she held her breath as he told her, his voice firm and without a hint of doubt, “Do you know how lucky I feel that I get to be the one to hold you, to kiss you, to love you, to make love to you?” his eyes held hers with a gentleness at an almost uncomfortable intensity but Daenerys could not look away. She glimpsed them darken as he said then, “how can I be with someone else, when you are all I can think about it those moments?”

His hands tightened on his hips and his eyes swam. She felt her cheeks begin to warm at his words. The feelings of comfort that she gave herself through acceptance was incomparable to his words; the ones that she knew he truly meant the moment he uttered them.

Then he spoke again, “Daenerys, I know how it must sound now,” Jon said quietly, speaking slower and calmer than before, “I would understand if you don’t believe me-“

A breath escaped her audibly, “Jon…” she muttered. She watched his dark grey eyes search hers before they darted over her reddened cheeks, then fell to her lips. Feeling the fire inside her scorch dangerously close to the surface, she allowed herself this moment of impulsive desire. Leaning forward, she captured his lower lips roughly. She felt him suck in a breath before his lips moulded gently over hers and with the feel of them, she felt the hurt in her begin to heal and the cracks begin to mend.

_Jon Snow._

_Just like that he could rattle and unravel and put me back together. What power he has over the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains-_

Her hands wandered over his strong shoulders and to the nape of his neck, where her fingers tugged at the curly locks insistently. He groaned as she ran her tongue over his lips, tasting the sweetness of him. She wanted him, all of him and she would have him, she would take him, “ _Dany_ ,” he gasped, pulling his lips from hers, sucking in an evidently much needed breath of air. He pressed his forehead to hers, brushing her nose with his.

“I believe you,” she whispered, her lips tingling with the feel of his, and only when she said it that she realised she did; she absolutely believed the words of her King. _He has always been true to his word, especially his ones to her_. His words and his love.

She felt and heard him sigh in relief, his arms around her waist tightened possessively. It was then she knew what he feared; afraid that she would not believe him and that he would lose her. A warmth ran through her at the thought that she too held power over him; _the brave and heroic Jon Snow. Afraid of losing her._

“Thank you, Dany,” he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into her neck, pressing a delicate kiss to the hollow of her throat. It seemed to set her already heated skin alight and Daenerys shivered, swallowing a moan.

“Did she touch you?” Jon tensed against her and that was answer enough for Daenerys. Anger filled her then, “I intend to speak with Arianne Martell, Jon,” she informed him.

Jon leaned back to look at her, “I don’t want you anywhere near her,” he told her, “especially now,” his hand settled on her middle as he said meaningfully.

“I can handle Arianne Martell,” Daenerys pulled from him and turned away, annoyed.

“I know you can, ” he said solemnly and she glanced to see he meant it, his eyes gentle and she knew he did not want to fight her now, “but…I’m not sure you should be riled up over Arianne Martell now, not with our little one in the middle of that,” Jon’s thumb caressed the swell of her abdomen affectionately, “let me worry about her,” he said and she paused, “I need you to trust me, Dany, can you do that?”

 _Can she? Did she?_ Daenerys gazed at him. His eyes were gentle, sincere and honest. She could feel his hands on her; one on her abdomen and the other firm on her waist. There were a tinge of apprehension in his eyes as he waited. Then eventually she nodded once, “I trust you,” she said softly. He smiled.

She lay against him then but his body was wound up tight as he held her to him firmly and Daenerys wanted feel him relax under her, “it must have been difficult for you,” she muttered, partially in jest, “she’s a beautiful woman and dressed as such,”

Jon huffed and he brought a finger to her chin to tilt her face up so he could look at her, “I have suffered more difficult times,” he looked at her meaningfully, then he added, “have been suffering,” She blinked, confused. He kissed her nose suddenly, eliciting a smile from her before he commented airily, “you seem to make a habit of dressing in a very Essosi manner,”

She mused, “which I imagine is a rare sight for Westerosi men, and especially Northerners like yourself,” she knew it was cold in the north but the amount of furs they put over themselves was almost laughable to Daenerys when she had first saw. She had never seen people wrapped up in so many layers having spent her years around people wearing barely enough fabric to cover themselves.

“A rare sight indeed,” his gaze dropped and she followed his gaze to see that her nightdress had fallen low over her neckline. He whispered, “you don’t know how difficult it is to see you dressed like that and to not be able to kiss you, touch you, or even look at you a moment longer. All because it is not _Kingly_ ,” Jon sighed the words.

“Well,” she could not hide her smile, “you can do whatever you want, my King, now,” as she looked up, her gasp of surprise was swallowed by a passionate kiss. His lips took hers persistently, longingly with a fire of his own and she responded in kind. Her legs shifted so she straddled him and his hands came to her bottom, supporting her and holding her firmly pressed to him. He tore his lips from her to drag them down her neck, the tip of his tongue leaving a hot moist trail on her overly sensitive skin. She moaned loudly.

Through the haze then, realisation of where they were came to her. Summoning every strength of restraint she had, Daenerys held his shoulders and pushed him away, “no, wait,” she said thickly and he drew back, looking puzzled. His gaze of deep want made a lump form in her throat and an ache settled between her legs. Unwittingly, her hips bucked and she grounded her core against the bulge of his breeches. He groaned and she placed her hand over his mouth, “this is our son’s solar,”

Jon seemed to remember then and they both glanced to the sleeping chambers. It was dark within and there was no sign that Jaehaerys had woken. Jon turned back to her then. He pushed away her hand and he leaned forward, kissing her collarbone so fiercely she was sure he had marked her then. She gasped, “he’s asleep,” he rasped, kissing and licking at her reddened skin unrelentingly. She groaned, longing to feel the same gentle mouth and tongue somewhere else entirely.

She sucked in a breath, willing herself to stay quiet, “we’ll wake him,” she whispered, her voice strained.

Jon shook his head as he gazed at her, “I would be quiet,” he promised, solemn, and she pressed her lips to his desperately.

When she pulled away, she told him, “I won’t,” a promise of her own. At her words, he groaned. His hand dropped from her abdomen then and when his fingers touched the sweet aching nub between her legs, she bucked against him, pressing her face into his shoulder and muffling the moan.

“Daenerys…” he whispered, his fingers showing no signs of intention to stop his tantalising ministration. She breathed heavily into his shoulder. Unable to help herself, her hips grinded rhythmically against his fingers and member through his breeches, “we’ll go to our chambers,” he hissed, almost feral.

His fingers left her and she felt a flicker of annoyance and even some anger, “no,” she whispered softly but no less firmly, “I want you _now_ ,” It would be a disaster if she took him in the corridor against the wall or on the floor of the Holdfast.

“Dany,” he raised a brow, breathless, “you were the one who said we couldn’t, not more than a moment ago,” he reminded.

She looked into his determined dark eyes and blinked, “you’re right, I did,” she slipped off his lap slowly, letting her hand trail over his torso and her fingers brushed the bulge of his breeches. He sucked in a breath, glaring at her. As she stood, she eyed his groin, “well, it will be a sight for the Kingsguards,”

Jon’s glare intensified but his annoyance was hooded under the desire for her. His dark eyes ran over her body hungrily before he stood abruptly from the chair. She stepped back instinctively but he was faster. He took her in his arms and kissed her fiercely, “it’s your fault,” he whispered against her lips, “but they won’t be seeing us,”

She raised a brow, “sneaking around your own Kingsguard? Not very kingly,” she teased, “not to mention impossible with them right outside that door,”

Jon nipped at her ear before he drew back, slipping his hand in hers. He tugged her to the wall beside the fireplace. Pushing aside the tapestry, he shifted a piece of uneven concrete at around the height of his hip. She jumped when stone grinded smoothly and shifted. A small gap emerged in the wall.

“Jon?” she frowned.

He tugged her along, squeezing himself into the gap. She followed. When she slipped through, the tapestry fell over the gap and it was pitch dark. Her free hand brushed over the cold stones around her as they walked, “Jaehaerys found this passageway a while ago,” Jon said, “He used it for about a year to escape his entourage. He showed it to me when I caught him using it. It leads to our solar,” Daenerys raised a brow, “it’s probably why these chambers are traditionally given to the Crown Prince or Princess. It has a direct secret passageway to the royal chambers,”

As they walked, the passageway widened and it was no longer as crammed as it had been. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the silhouette of Jon beside her and although she wished she could see his face, he was there and she smiled. They walked for a while. Before suddenly, Jon’s pace quickened. Jon was practically already towing her along, making her run a few steps when he stopped abruptly.

She turned to him, opening her mouth to ask what was wrong when his mouth enveloped hers. She groaned and she heard her nightdress rip in two places, at her thigh and breasts. His fingers brushed over her breasts and down her body before she felt his hand grab her behind her thighs. She gasped in alarm, her fingers digging into his back, as he lifted her into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist firmly and she pressed her hips to his. Her nightdress was hiked up to her hips, “Jon, what are you doing?” she gasped, “you said we are going to our chambers-“

He groaned, complaining, “it’s too far,”  

She laughed but it was cut short when he pressed her against the cold surface of the stone wall. His hips thrusted unwittingly into her then and she felt the hardness of his groin against where she wanted him the most. They moaned in unison. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. She did not realise he had undone his breeches during their kiss until she felt the tip of his member brush against the ache between her legs.

“Daenerys,” he whispered, his fingers digging into her bare thighs. He buried his face into the curve of her neck as he thrusted deep into her, filling her. She gasped, pulling his face back from her neck. She wanted to see him; as much as she could see in this darkness. He pressed his forehead to hers, his hips bucking fiercely and colliding with hers. She could barely see him but she knew his eyes were closed, his lips were parted, his hot breath brushing her skin. She had gazed at his face long enough in these moments to have the image of it burned vividly into her mind.

As she gazed at his silhouette now, a thought came to her; a memory. The silhouette of her sweet lover that she had dreamt, long before she came to Westeros.

_The shifting shadow._

If there was any doubt in her that the one she dreamt of was Jon, there was none now. They were meant to be, “Jon, I love you,” she breathed, “it has always been you, I have always loved you,” _in a way, even before I knew you._

He groaned, his body strong and tensed against hers as hers melted against his with a gentleness, “and I you,” he replied clumsily as he peppered kisses on her face where he could reach; her cheek, her jaw, her chin and her lips. He stopped then and gazed at her, “Daenerys, you’re my Queen. I love you and I would never dishonour you, I swear it,” his thrust came faster and stronger. As he dipped his head to kiss her breasts, Daenerys unravelled around him. She cried out his name and arched from the wall, her body tightening around him as he thrusted into her steadily, deliberately, prolonging her pleasure.

She collapsed against him then, spent. He held her steady in his arms. His hips slowed and Daenerys knew he was withholding his own pleasure to bring more to her “ _daor_ (no),” she told him firmly and rolled her hips against his. Jon groaned and his thrust met hers. She ran her fingers over his scalp and gently fisted his thick curly locks. She dipped her head and his breathing became shallower and sharper as her tongue darted out and skimmed over the shell of his ear, “ _ñuha jorrāelagon_ (my love),” she moaned breathlessly, “ _Jaelan ao, jemome_ (I want you, all of you),”

His hips bucked uncontrollably and his thrusts became clumsy, losing the steady rhythm. He buried his face into her neck, moaning deeply and she felt his warmth pour into her.

Jon trembled violently against her and she wrapped her arms firmly around his neck, her thighs tightening around his waist, as if to steady him as he did for her, “Daenerys…” he whispered against her skin a long while later, his words muffled. He panted, “seven hells,” she laughed.

 

* * *

 

 “Your Grace,” the wet nurse bowed low as Daenerys came into the solar.

Daenerys gestured for her to rise, “has the Prince risen yet?” Daenerys asked.

The wet nurse shook her head, “he has not, your Grace. If you want the Prince-“ she turned to enter the chambers to wake the Prince and presumably dress him.

“No,” Daenerys said and the wet nurse paused, “I will wake and dress him this day,” she said.

The wet nurse blinked, freezing for a moment before she nodded, “would you like the handmaidens-“

“They will fetch the water but there will be no need for them to attend to the Prince,” Daenerys replied and made her way to the door of the private chambers, “thank you, Jeyne,” she said before she entered the chambers.

Jaehaerys was curled up under the sheets, snoring lightly. She smiled as she sat by his side, gazing at him. His thick silver curls were spread haphazardly over the pillows, his lips slightly parted. Half of his face was pressed into the pillows with an arm bent under his body awkwardly, in a manner that was all too familiar to Daenerys; Jon slept like that as well. _He is so much like Jon_. She gazed at him fondly, reaching to touch his curls, that apart from the colour, were his father’s as well.

Gently, she ran her fingers through his curls. He did not stir. Shaking her head, she brought her other hand to his bum, patting him softly, “Jaehaerys, wake up,”

He whined, his face scrunching up as if he was about to cry before he turned and buried more of his face into his pillow.

“Jaehaerys,” she said, wrapping her arm around his tiny body and pulled him over. He whimpered, clutching his pillow but eventually, Daenerys managed to pull him from the bed and into her arms, “wake up, darling,” she smiled and kissed him over his brow. He furrowed his brow then and opened his eyes reluctantly. His lips were pursed irritably.

“Mama,” he pouted, his eyes drooping tiredly. Daenerys smiled, her heart warming.

“Yes, my darling?”

“’m sleepy,” he protested, turning to bury his face into her chest.

She pressed her lips to his hair, “well,” she started, feigning nonchalance, “you can sleep in today if you’d like, but your father would be jousting and-“

She startled when Jaehaerys pulled away abruptly and sat up, “Father is jousting today?” his grey eyes, previously sleepy, were wide and there was a twinkle in them.

Daenerys looked at him amusedly, “yes,” she reached up and mused his already tousled hair.

He then looked around curiously, “where is Jeyne?”

Daenerys felt her stomach drop as her son asked for his wet nurse. She swallowed and said, “I will help you dress this day,” the grin that spread over his cherubic face at her words chased the despair in her away quicker than anything could.

“Truly?” he stood on the bed. Daenerys smiled, standing from the bed.

She offered her hand, “yes, truly,” Jaehaerys beamed. He ignored her offered hand and leaped into her arms, almost throwing both of them off her feet and to the ground but Daenerys managed to find her balance, catching herself, her son and her unborn child. She smiled when Jaehaerys wrapped his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist.

Carrying Jaehaerys like that, she began to wonder how it would have felt like to have him in her swollen belly, how his weight would feel like when she was well into her pregnancy and how his nudges and kicks would feel. She stroked his hair gently as she brought him to the dressing room and before his clothes. She picked out a leather maroon doublet and black pants.

“Stand here for me would you Jaehaerys?” she asked and Jaehaerys loosened his arms and legs from around her and Daenerys placed him on his feet. She then proceeded to dress him. As she fastened his doublet, she noticed Jaehaerys was unusually quiet and she looked at him then, “what’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Jaehaerys’ grey eyes were watching her curiously and she knew he has been watching her for a while, “I dreamt of you, Mother,”

Daenerys looked at him. She had dreamt of him as well, “what did you dream of?”

“Darkness,”

Daenerys tensed.

“It took me away…” his voice trailed off, becoming unbearably small, “you tried to stop it but it took me away,”

A breath left her as she realised that it might not have been a mere dream. The Night King did take him away from her, in a way; for four years and there was nothing she could do to have those years back. She held his hand, “were you afraid?”

Jaehaerys nodded.

She squeezed his hand then, “it cannot hurt you. I won’t let it,”

Jaehaerys shook his head then, “I am not afraid it would hurt me,” he looked at her, his eyes reddening around the rim, “I am just afraid I will not see you again,”

Daenerys froze, “no, Jaehaerys. You will. Wherever you are, Mother and Father will always find you,”

Jaehaerys nodded profusely, “you will _always_ be with me, won’t you, Mother?”

Tears pricked her eyes. She removed her hands from his doublet and held his face gently in her hands, “I would if I could, Jaehaerys,”

Jaehaerys’ eyes begin to well with tears. His little breaths came short then, his lips pouting, “Why couldn’t you?”

“Oh my sweet boy,” she smiled and pulled him into her arms, “when you are much older, Mother and Father would grow old and eventually, it is only be natural that we would pass on and you will be King and have a Queen and have children of your own, your own family,”

Jaehaerys bit his lips, pulling away, “then I don’t want to be older,”

Daenerys smiled, stroking his hair, “you can’t stop time, Jaehaerys,”

“I will!” he pouted and stomped. Daenerys suppressed a laugh, her chest swelling with adoration for her sweet naïve son, who loved his Father and Mother so much.

“Well, I am here now, aren’t I?” Daenerys replied, holding his hands. At that, he grinned and nodded. She smiled and finished fastening his doublet. Then pulling his pants on for him, she watched as Jaehaerys laced up his pants as, he had proudly told her, Jon had taught him. Then he slipped into his boots and Daenerys took his hand and brought him to the basin the handmaidens have prepared for him to wash up. As she helped him wash his face, laughing along with the Prince when he splashed water over them, there was a knock.

“Enter,” Daenerys called, smiling at Jaehaerys as she wiped his face dry with a cloth. She turned from the Prince and her smile faded.

Jaime Lannister stood at the door. He paused as he saw her look, “your Grace, may I request an audience?” he asked quietly.

Daenerys stared at him.

“Uncle Jaime!” Jaehaerys greeted, a grin on his face.

Daenerys glanced to him and nodded stiffly, “Jeyne,” the wet nurse shuffled in behind Jaime, “bring the Prince to the stables and wait for me there,” then she turned to Jaehaerys, “go, I will be there with you in a while,”

Jaehaerys nodded. He then stood on his tip toes and Daenerys bent to him. He kissed her soundly on her cheek before he went and took the hand of the wet nurse. She did not miss the wide grin Jaehaerys gave Jaime as he passed. Jaime smiled and bowed, “My Prince,” he greeted. As the door closed behind the wet nurse, Jaime turned back to face her. He was wearing his Lannister armour. She had heard he would be jousting today as well.

“What do you want?” she asked when he merely stood there, looking at her.

He blinked, hesitated then he said, “I’m here to talk to you about Arianne Martell,” she froze, “she’s not here simply for the tourney or to pledge her allegiance to the crown,”

She turned to him sharply, “and what do you know about that?”

Jaime replied, “I know she is never going to bend the knee. She’s a dangerous woman who is used to getting what she wants,”

“She’s not the only one,” Daenerys said evenly, staring at a spot beside him.

The edge of Jaime’s lips twitched, “no, she is not,” he beseeched, “but please, my Queen, be cautious around her. She is not your friend,”

Daenerys knew Jaime cared about her deeply, as she could see it in his eyes now. But she needed the people to know that actions had consequences and she would not tolerate even the slightest hint of treason; she could not. She had been betrayed and blind to them one time too many. She tensed as she considered her response carefully. Eventually she said, “I will,”

His shoulders visibly relaxed.

“I will convey your message to the King as well,” she told him.

Jaime shook his head, “no, just you, my Queen,” he said in a lowered tone.

She narrowed her eyes, “is there something I should know, Ser Jaime?” she addressed him as how she always had before she could stop herself and something shifted in his eyes as he heard how she addressed him.

He opened his mouth, something seeming to be on the tip of his tongue but he closed it again. Then he muttered, “no,”

_He knows. Of Arianne Martell’s advances on the King. And he had wanted to tell me. Why didn’t he?_

She watched as he bowed, “your Grace,” then he turned and left.

“Ser Jaime,” she said and he stopped and turned back to her, “ride well,” the edge of his lips twitched up. He nodded respectfully, standing a little straighter as he left.

As she walked through the yard and came to the stables, all around her the stable boys and girls bowed as she passed. She nodded to them and came to see Jaehaerys was already mounted on his pony. In his hands, he clutched a bow and an arrow and was taking aim. His pony was galloping across the yard. She watched as Jaehaerys aimed and loosed the arrow, the pony never slowing. It struck the target on the edge. Jaehaerys lowered his bow, turning his pony around, his shoulders drooping and his head hung. He was frowning in disappointment.

“You shot well,” she said. He looked up, blinking. He had evidently not notice her approach. He smiled.

Then a stable boy approached her and bowed, handing the reins of her silver mare to her. She thanked him and mounted quickly. She then urged her mare forward, to Jaehaerys.

“Are we riding to the tourney?” he asked.

Daenerys shook her head. She watched his face carefully as she said, “we will fly,” Jaehaerys tensed visibly. She urged her mare closer and placed a hand over his that clutched his reins, “Drogon will not hurt you,” his grey eyes darted between hers, “I will ride with you,” she added and Jaehaerys bit his lips, eventually nodding.

She had spent the morning fighting Jon for it; less about having Jaehaerys ride Drogon and more regarding her ‘delicate’ state. She pointed out to him that the Dothraki rode their horses until they went into labour and Jon pointed out sharply that a fall from a horse and a dragon were two different matters entirely. Eventually, after much assurances and insistence that a ride on Drogon would please her very much and she had done so before in the war with Jaehaerys and no problems emerged from that, her sweet husband relented.

Daenerys glimpsed the dragonpit ahead when Jaehaerys, who had been riding quietly beside her, spoke, “I always dreamed of flying, Mother,”

She turned to him.

“And you would be riding behind me,”

She froze, “Jaehaerys…” she felt her brows knit together, “is it like now?”

Jaehaerys nodded.

“Do you always have these dreams?” Daenerys asked, “the ones that come true?”

Jaehaerys nodded, “I always tell Father I dreamt that you woke. And that I was flying on dragons with you but he would always look sad and hug me. After a while, I would stop telling him. I don’t want to make Father sad,”

Daenerys could only imagine how it was like for Jon, to hear that from his son and mistake Jaehaerys’ dragon dreams, the ones that come true, as immense hope from a child for what could have been, “your Father does not have dreams like the ones you have,” she explained, “the ones that come true,”

Jaehaerys’ eyes widened then, “Mother, do you have them?”

She smiled and nodded, “yes, Jaehaerys. Since I was a little girl. But I did not know that they would come true then,” she halted her horse before the dragonpit, “I dreamt of your father before I met him,” _her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow._ And now, no longer a shadow, though no less comely.

Jaehaerys’ eyes widened.

“You’re very special, Jaehaerys,” she dismounted and went to Jaehaerys. He grinned at her as he dismounted as well.

“I’m like you, Mother,” Jaehaerys slipped his hand into hers.

Daenerys then looked up at the skies, her heart and mind willing Drogon to come to her. She had heard from the Unsullied that Drogon had not returned to the dragonpit the night before but it did not trouble her or bring the fear that Drogon might not come. He would.

A screech made Jaehaerys jump and grip her hand tighter. She held his hand firmer and watched as the black dragon descended. He landed lighter than he usually did and Daenerys knew it was because there was no one here that he felt he needed to intimidate. Those present were of his blood.

“ _Drōgon_ ,” she greeted and a wisp of smoking breath escaped the dragon. He emitted small purr and he lowered his head so that he was almost resting on the ground, “ _ñuha ānogar_ (my blood),” she placed her free hand on his snout. Gently, she tugged Jaehaerys forward. Jaehaerys was tensed as he stared at the dragon, “you must show no fear, Jaehaerys. A dragon would not follow a coward,” she told him.

Jaehaerys nodded and with a haste and reckless bravery only a child of four could summon, he stepped towards Drogon and touched his lower jaw, where he could reach. Drogon whined softly and Jaehaerys was emboldened, letting his hand run over Drogon’s scales and then to the spikes under his chin. Jaehaerys marvelled at the feel of his hard smooth scales. Daenerys smiled proudly and took his hand, leading him to Drogon’s side. His eyes widened in awe as Drogon lowered his body to the ground, a feet out under him, offered to them.

He looked up at Daenerys and Daenerys nodded. Jaehaerys climbed up onto Drogon’s large scaled feet, then he stood and clutched the spikes on Drogon’s side. Her son climbed well and strong. He barely hesitated as he went from one spike to another. As he settled on Drogon’s back, Daenerys followed him.

She reached around him, adjusting her seat on Drogon, and clutched two spikes before them. Jaehaerys turned to her, awe still in his eyes and Daenerys knew he was thinking of his dream, which would look and feel exactly as it did in this moment, “go on, tell him to fly,” she said.

Jaehaerys turned to look at Drogon, “ _sōves_ ,” Drogon snorted, rising from the ground. Then he launched them into the air with a leap and a great flap of his wings. Jaehaerys laughed as they rose in the air. It would be a short flight to the tourney but Daenerys knew this moment meant everything for Jaehaerys. She found herself watching every expression on his face. His eyes were bright and darted about to take in everything in his surroundings. His lips in a permanent grin, “ _Muña, zaldrīzes iksan iā_ (I am a dragon)!” Daenerys smiled and startled as Jaehaerys turned abruptly and gave her a wet kiss.

Drogon flew high over the city till they almost broke the cloud banks.

“ _eglikta, Drōgon_ (higher)!” Jaehaerys shouted excitedly and Daenerys smiled, amused as Drogon snorted but indulged her son nonetheless. Drogon flapped his wings and they broke through the clouds.

Daenerys sighed as moisture dampened their clothes and hair. They were meant to be presentable for the tourney; to appear as the Queen and Prince before the people. But glancing at Jaehaerys clapping gleefully as they rose above the clouds, Daenerys realised the importance of formality paled beside her son’s smile.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope this one made up for all the angst and heartache ;) Leave me a comment to tell me what you think! 
> 
> Oh and by the way, I'm super excited for the next chapter!


	24. Chapter 24

**_Jaime_ **

He checked the straps on his horse when he heard someone come up behind him.

He turned to see the King approaching. Jaime had known the King would be jousting as well but looking at the King now, Jaime was stunned. The King was wearing a night-black plate armour with the Targaryen crest, in rubies, on his breastplate. Under the armour, he wore a silver ringmail. At his hip was his Valyrian steel sword and an exquisite black dagger that Jaime did not remember the King own but had been almost inseparable with it recently. He looked a truer knight than Jaime ever remembered meeting since Ser Arthur Dayne.

“Your Grace,” Jaime bowed low as the King stopped before him, the usual brooding look on his handsome face. It was in these moment that Jaime could truly see the resemblance of the King to Rhaegar Targaryen, his birth father. The Prince of Dragonstone had always carried with him an air of melancholy as did the King, “I didn’t think this a place for a King,” Jaime said evenly, “or is your Grace here to evaluate the competition?”

The King ignored him and stated in an iron tone, “you spoke to the Queen,”

Jaime raised a brow, “did your Grace have the Queen spied on?”

The King’s cold grey eyes hardened, “no, just you,” the King then asked, “what did you tell the Queen?”

Jaime narrowed his eyes, “Apologies for my brashness, your Grace but will there, by any chance, be something you do not wish the Queen to know of?”

The King stared at him, “no,” he replied, “the Queen is privy to any information with regard to me, as a wife is privy to every knowledge of her husband,” Jaime tensed as the King’s reminder twisted the knife in his heart. The King took a step forward and he said in an undertone, “but I do not wish the Queen disturbed and burdened unnecessarily at this time,”

“The Queen is more than capable of handling-“ he paused as he looked at the King; his strong jaw was tensed and his grey eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness that a father might show his child. _The Queen is with child._ The realisation made something twinge uncomfortably in him. Jaime nodded stiffly.  

“You are to come to me, or the Hand, from now on if you have something important inform the Crown,” Jaime remained quiet. The King stepped back, “I look forward to meeting you in the joust,”

Jaime inclined his chin in acknowledgement, “and you, your Grace. It has been a while since Westeros had a tourney, it would be interesting to test the waters again. Competition has gone stale in the last tourney. But Your Grace would not remember, you weren’t present. You were journeying to the Wall,”

The King looked away and around them, “the last tourney… it was the tourney to celebrate the naming of the Hand, was it not? Organised by Robert Baratheon, for my Father,” Jaime raised a brow at how the King addressed Ned Stark, who was not his father. The King ignored him and continued, his grey Stark eyes landing on him again, “and since then, a lot has changed. None of us are the same as who we were,”

Jaime tensed, feeling his missing hand more than usual, “no, we are not,” the King held his gaze. Then they looked up as they heard a distinctive roar that could only mean one thing. Both of them proceeded out of the tent.

Jaime felt his breath hitch in his throat as the large black dragon could be seen approaching from the skies. It circled and landed heavily. The common people skirted away, nervously eyeing the dragon as the dragon’s smouldering red eyes darted over them. The noble lords and ladies in the stands shifted nervously as they stood. Drogon roared fiercely, stirring the tents violently before he lowered his head. The people cowered under his roar.

Atop its back, the Queen and the Prince sat. He watched the Queen stroke the dragon and say something Jaime could not hear. Then the low rumbling growl of the dragon died down with a last wispy screech as a smoking breath left its nostril. The dragon’s eyes darted over the crowd cautiously, protectively.

He glanced the King approached the dragon, gesturing for his entourage not to follow. The dragon turned to the King sharply but the King did not slow in his approach and the dragon acknowledged him with a soft snort. The Prince began climbing down then and the dragon slowly lowered its belly into the ground. When he was low enough, the Prince jumped off the dragon and into the King’s waiting arms. The Queen smiled as she dismounted to stand beside the King. The dragon screeched before it took to the skies again, stirring the tents.

Jaime could not hear the King and Queen speak from where he was but an uncomfortable lump formed in his throat as the Queen smiled sweetly at the King and took his offered arm.

The King, ever the honourable man, escorted the Queen to the stand despite that his participation in the tourney would mean his presence in the tents. As the Queen took her seat, the noble lords, ladies and common people sat as well and the King proceeded to the tents.

Jaime had, arguably, been to a number of Tourneys, more than most knights here. But never had he seen such a large audience, most of them peasants that were allowed to attend to the tourney. If the noble houses were slighted at their presence, none of them showed it or said so.

Then the joust commenced.

Jaime sat under the Lannister tent, watching lazily as knights were unhorsed. Then when he saw the King mount his black destrier. Jaime stood. He had heard the King was a great warrior and had seen for himself in the melee but he had never seen the King joust. Truthfully, Jaime has had doubts that the King could joust at all; after all, _why would Ned Stark teach his bastard to joust?_ But the King was no bastard, he was Rhaegar Targaryen’s trueborn son and Ned Stark’s nephew. And Ned Stark knew that as well. With that change, Jaime was very eager to see how the King would fair.

The King rode his destrier to the stands. A hedge knight rode up beside him, bowing to the King. The King nodded and said something to the knight. Then the knight turned to the Queen, bowing low. The King dipped his head to her. Jaime watched as the Queen gazed at the King a moment longer before she nodded stiffly.

Both turned their horses and took their respective position, the peasants cheering for their King while the Noble Lords and Ladies clapped. The Prince was on his feet beside the Queen, clutching her hand excitedly as he pointed at the King. The Queen cracked a rare smile at the Prince.

The King wore his red black helm, not unlike the one Rhaegar Targaryen wore. He then took his lance and a shield from his squire and before long, a trumpet sounded.

Both riders rode towards the other. It did not escape Jaime’s notice that the King held his lance well, steadily. As they approached, the King tilted his lance at an angle, effectively shifting his body so his lance struck the hedge knight’s pauldron before the hedge knight’s lance could touch him. _Smart._ With that angle, the King’s lance broke upon contact with the hedge knight and the hedge knight was unhorsed. He fell heavily into the mud, clean off his horse and Jaime knew he would be unharmed.

The crowd shot to their feet, clapping and cheering loudly. The King removed his helm then and gazed to the stands. The Queen was looking at him. She inclined her chin to him, barely noticeably.

Jaime knew the hedge knight was no match for the King and the King had apparently known as well. He had went out of his way to prevent any possible injuries for the knight by holding his lance at an angle rather than strike the hedge knight with a straight lance, which could result in injuries and even death; something some knights used to do. But there was no honour in that and if the King was anything, he was honourable. _The King was more like his father, both of his fathers, than he realise. He even looked the part; he looked like Rhaegar at the tourney of Harrenhal._

The joust proceeded and Jaime unhorsed Ser Humfrey Hightower, a Kingsguard and a few hedge knights.

As a knight from House Cassel fell from his horse against a knight of the vale, Jaime mounted his horse for one more tilt before he would be in the last tilt, to determine the champion of the tourney. He spurred his horse to the stands before the Queen. He caught her gaze and held it. She did not look away from him this time. He bowed and she nodded; formal, rigid. She was acknowledging him now and for Jaime, it was a big step; one that drove him to want to win the tourney desperately, for her.

To his side, Jaime watched his opponent approach on his horse. The horse was unimpressive; a common horse. But it had a steady gait and looked strong. The rider, like the horse, was unimpressive but his frame was large under his armour. His armour shone silver and looked fresh forged, despite the small dents and scratches here and there. He wore no family crest on his armour nor on the rump of his horse; a peasant.

This was something in this tourney Jaime had to get used to. In all his years of jousting, he had never had to joust with peasants. He had jousted with hedge knights but no matter how dismal their state was, they were knights. His father would never allow him to enter a tourney that allowed peasants to joust in for those tourneys were not highly regarded among the Noble Houses. _Look where we are now; a Tourney by the Crown in which peasants joust._ His previous experience in jousting with peasants was uneventful but as this man rode up to him, Jaime knew he must not be underestimated; after all, he had made it this far.

The man stopped his horse beside Jaime’s and turned to him, “I am deeply honoured to joust with you, Ser Jaime Lannister,” his voice was thick with reverence and Jaime blinked, surprised to be held with such respect by a peasant. The man proceeded to dismount and he knelt before the Queen, removing his helmet.

“There is no need-“ the Queen smiled and gestured for him to rise but then she paused as she saw his face.

“Your Grace,” he bowed, his face almost in the mud.

“It’s you,” the Queen smiled and rose from her seat, “rise,” she said and he straightened but stayed on his knees, “so you did use the gold to enter the tourney,”

“And buy armour, a lance, a shield and a horse,” he gestured. His eyes were welling up with tears, “I-I saw your Grace and the King in my first joust but I dared not believe that the _King and Queen_ have given me the money to enter the tourney,” he said thickly, “then I saw your Graces at the feast and I knew it was truly to the King and Queen that I owed this to,”

“You should have approached at the feast. We would have been very happy to see you,” the Queen said kindly.

The man bowed, “I did not want to disappoint your Graces in case I could not make it past the second tilt,” he smiled nervously.

“What is your name?” the Queen asked.

“Cadder, your Grace,” he bowed.

The Queen nodded, “ride well, Cadder,” the man nodded and rose from the mud, mounting his horse and spurring it to canter away. Jaime let his gaze linger just a bit longer on the Queen before he rode away.

The joust began and Jaime spurred his horse into a charge. The man rode steadily and had no problem holding the heavy lance straight; his aim truer than most knights. As they neared, Cadder jabbed his lance forward unexpectedly and his lance touched Jaime’s pauldron. Jaime quickly tilted his body with the force of the jab and the tip glanced off his armour, leaving a scratch and throwing Jaime off balance. But with years of experience, Jaime steadied himself quickly as he rode his horse around the fence at the end.

The man was evidently very strong to manuveur a heavy lance like that. The only people Jaime had encountered in a joust who could do something similar had been the Mountain and the Hound.

But the next time they met, Jaime was ready. Averting his lance that he used in the same manner, Jaime drove his own into his breastplate. The lance shattered and Cadder fell from his horse. The crowd cheered and Jaime rode around the fence and stopped his horse before his fallen opponent, who was getting to his feet.

“You jousted well,” Jaime said, removing his helm, “how old are you?”

“15,” _the age he was knighted._ The young man replied quickly as he removed his helm as well. When he looked at Jaime, he seemed flustered, “I-I- thank you, Ser Lannister,” he said and then he held out his helmet to him, his head bowed.

Jaime raised a brow.

“s’pose it’s customary for me to give up my armour and my horse now, ‘innit?” he mumbled sadly.

“Keep it lad,” Jaime said simply, “use that armour and horse and you may make a knight yet,” the young man straightened and his eyes lit up, “there is no better chance for you than now,” _when the Queen loved her people so._ As Jaime looked into his hopeful eyes, the words of someone from a long time ago came to him then. _Someone forgot to write all your great deeds._ His own son had said that to him, a cruel jest.

_There’s still time._

Jaime dismounted and stood before the lad. This lad towered half a head over Jaime, who was never considered a short man, “would you like to be a knight, Cadder?”

Cadder’s eyes widened then, “I-I-I-“

“Cadder, yes or no?” Jaime asked gently, amused.

“Yes, Ser,” Cadder breathed, sinking to his knees before him.

Jaime turned and he looked to the stands to see the people watching them. _Would it bring this lad dishonour? If others knew I was the one to knight him; Ser Jaime Lannister, the knight who broke all his vows but the last._ At that thought, he looked to the Queen; the one he swore his last vow to.

She was looking on curiously. When their eyes met, she held his gaze. _What should I do, my Queen?_

She nodded to him.

Then he turned to the man knelt before him. Jaime gestured to his squire. As his squire came forward, Jaime drew his sword from the scabbard and placed his sword on Cadder’s shoulder, “In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women,” _do what I have failed,_ “Rise, Ser Cadder,”

The young man looked up at him, his hard eyes, filled with pride, now welled with tears, “thank you, Ser Jaime,” he stood.

Jaime smiled, “you deserve it,” he sheathed his sword and clasped the man’s arm. The man nodded, clutching his helm under one arm as he took his horse’s rein. They walked and stood before the Queen.

Cadder let go of the horse’s rein and fell to his knees heavily before the Queen. She rose to stop him but she caught Jaime’s eye and he shook his head. She paused, gazing at the young man as he bowed, his face almost in the mud. As he straightened, he met the Queen’s eyes and she smiled at him, “long live the King and Queen,” Cadder said.

Jaime then turned to the Queen and bowed deeply amidst the applause of the crowd.

Jaime settled under the Lannister tent as he watched the rest of the joust. The King rode well and before long, Jaime found himself watching the King preparing for his next joust, against Beric Dayne. They rode past each other, both dodging the lance of the other before the King’s lance found its target on the second pass and Beric Dayne was unhorsed.

As the King rode pass the crowd, their eyes met momentarily. Jaime would be jousting against the King in the final tilt.

*

He took his helm from a Lannister squire he did not know the name of, all the while watching the Queen. She was smiling at the Prince as he excitedly spoke to her. Then she glanced over him, no doubt looking for the King but as their eyes met, she paused. Then she blinked and turned to the Prince again. Jaime put on his helm and proceeded to his white horse. Mounting it, Jaime took the reins of the horse and placed it over his golden hand. He had taught himself to command his horse using his legs mostly and by tugging on the reins with his golden hand. Then he rode to the stand, seeing the King approach from the opposite. They turned to the Queen and Jaime bowed.

The Queen held his gaze for a moment before she looked to the King. The King nodded to her, a soft look in his grey eyes, and a twinkle lit up the Queen’s eyes. The King turned to him then.

The King’s eyes regarded him evenly from behind his dragon helm, “I would expect nothing less than your best effort, Kingslayer,” the King said.

“If that is your command, your Grace,” Jaime bowed and they both turned their horses away. He glanced over the Queen to see her tense at his words. He could see she worried for the King but Jaime knew it would be a slight to the opponent in a joust for one to hold back and Jaime would not; he has waited too long to pit the skills he has been honing these past few years against a worthy opponent. He took the lion shield from his squire and strapped it over his wrist, just before his stump, and then he took the lance.

As he rode into position, seeing the King doing the same, Jaime held his lance at the ready. He would be approaching with his lance on his left that is closer to the tilt and Jaime recognised his natural advantage. But he also saw that the King was a smart and skilled rider, he would not be fooled by Jaime’s unusual handedness as was his previous opponents.

At the sound of the trumpet, Jaime spurred his horse into a charge. His horse ran steadily and Jaime pointed his lance, aiming for the King’s shoulder and if struck well would push any rider off balance.

As they neared, Jaime glimpsed the King shift his lance at the last moment, going for his left shoulder, above his own lance. Jaime responded in kind and their lances met, both breaking upon contact. Jaime reeled from the impact but managed to stay on his horse. His squire met him at the end and handed him another lance. Jaime took it, turning his horse around to see the King taking his lance from his squire.

Riding at the other again, Jaime rode close to the tilt, knowing his lance would strike the King before the King’s lance could strike him this way. As they neared, Jaime kept his lance trained on the King, ready to strike his left pauldron. Just before his lance tip could find its target, the King spurred his horse unexpectedly to the side and Jaime’s lance tip skimmed the King’s pauldron, scratching it viciously. And as Jaime begin to look for the King’s lance, he felt it hit his breastplate, breaking into pieces and Jaime fell with his horse.

The crowd roared, shouting their King’s name. His horse whinnied and got to its feet. As Jaime made to stand gingerly, he saw a hand. Looking up, the King sat hunched over atop his horse, a hand offered. Jaime regarded the King for a moment, “it was a good tilt, Lannister,”

There was no arrogance in the King’s voice or eyes. There was only the twinkle in his eyes and the tone of a young man who had enjoyed himself at a joust; something that Jaime rarely felt now but remembered vividly when he himself was a young squire and had jousted, “and you, Your Grace,” Jaime replied, taking his hand. The King pulled him to his feet and he nodded to him before he rode away to the stands. He removed his helm and waved at the crowd who cheered for him still. On his handsome but normally brooding face, there was a hint of a smile and Jaime thought the King truly do look a king then.

The King picked up a wreath of blue winter roses from the cushion offered to him by a page boy. Urging his horse past all the lords and ladies, the King rode straight to the royal stands where the Queen sat.

The King smiled the brightest then, rivalled only by the Prince’s delighted grin as he clapped for his Father. The Queen watched the King stop before her, atop his horse, her eyes shining with pride. Everyone watched, cheering as the King placed the wreath of winter roses in her lap and took her hands gently in his. Then as he looked into the Queen’s eyes, the King declared her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Jaime would not hesitated to concur for as the Queen gazed at the King then, the Queen looked the most radiant and beautiful woman in all the lands.

 

**_Jon_ **

“It’s bruised,” he shivered as her fingers gently brushed his shoulder. He was sat atop the bed, naked as his name day and beside him, so was his Queen. He glanced back at her to see her looking at his shoulder worriedly.

The last tilt was a close one. Jaime Lannister had cunningly used his left-handedness and positioned his lance such that his lance would always find its target before his opponent’s. Jon had put all his trust in his destrier and had led it in an unusual manoeuvre to the side. That allowed him to catch Jaime Lannister off guard when Jaime’s lance unexpectedly missed and Jon’s lance found its target instead; Jon had escaped with a bruise and won the joust.

“It’s swelling up,” she accused.

“It’s nothing,” he assured, looking over his shoulder at her, “I’ve had worse,” he said softly.

Daenerys’ eyes settled on his and she replied, deadpanned, “and that is supposed to make me feel better? That you have been beaten bloody before,”

Jon chuckled, shaking his head. He turned, placing a gentle hand on her thigh as he leaned forward to kiss her, “it will heal,” he whispered, his hand running up her leg and over her waist, stopping just short of her breast. He frowned, pausing. Then his hand gently cupped her breast. He heard her breathe in sharply, “you’re different,” he had not noticed this, owing to their previous lovemaking being in absolute darkness.

“It’s the baby. My body is readying itself for our baby,” she said, her breath shallow, and Jon realised they had not really been intimate when she was with Jaehaerys. Jon supposed it was really his fault. He had spent a large amount of time at Winterfell brooding over his parentage and avoiding her; avoiding the shame he felt over his still intense longing for her after he knew who she was to him. And the one time they were together was after they were wedded and with such suppressed longing and want, it was hasty and filled with a sort of desperation. And when they were done, he could not linger in bed with her; there was a battle to prepare for.

Then Daenerys had been injured and fell into a long deep sleep and as much as he wanted to touch her and feel her skin on his, he did not. He could not bear to touch her, love her and have her not be in a position to consent or even react to his presence.

“You are beautiful,” he marvelled. Her breasts were noticeably larger and as his thumb brushed over her nipple gently, she moaned. Jon gazed at her as she threw her head back and her body arched to push her breast firmly into his palm. As his eyes drink in the sight of her body; the body of the mother of his child, he felt a desperate want for her that threatened to have him to push her into the sheets and take her roughly. But he will be patient and he will give her as much love and pleasure as she deserved.

Jon watched as her eyes opened and met his. Her eyes were an alarmingly dark shade of lilac and painfully gentle as they gazed at him and Jon was mesmerized.

 _How could this be mine? How did I get so lucky? I was only a bastard when she first wanted me. How could she want a bastard?_ A small voice whispered a reminder then; _you were also a King._

But Jon knew, somehow, Daenerys did not care if he was a King like how she did not care he was a bastard. Even as she looked at him now, Jon knew Daenerys just saw _him_. Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen, it was only a name to her; she was looking at the man she loved.

Jon lowered his head to her body and she lay back, her silent permission for him to have all of her however he wanted. He smiled and pressed slow gentle kisses over every inch of her skin, from her collarbone to her hips. He lingered a moment longer at her breasts for it made him grin against her skin when she writhed beneath him, her breathing quickening. Then he came to the swell of her abdomen and Jon pressed a kiss to it, his thumb caressing it gently.

“Hey little one,” he whispered and pressed another gentle kiss to their child and spoke with his lips against her skin, “how are you feeling? Are you comfortable? It is too cold?” he asked gently, “well of course you aren’t, I’m sure it’s nice and warm, isn’t it? Your mother always had a fire in her,” he smiled, murmuring, pressing another kiss to the swell. He felt a tremor as Daenerys chuckled, amused but she did not stop him and he indulged himself. He pressed his ear to her abdomen and said softly, “can you hear me, little one? Come on, don’t let your Mother think your Father mad,”

Daenerys laughed and Jon felt a thrill run through him at the sound of it. He nuzzled his bearded cheek to her abdomen and suddenly he heard and felt something. Jon’s eyes widened and he shot up, looking to Daenerys. She was staring the small swell in surprise.

“Did you feel that?” Jon asked in exhilaration, a smile spreading wide over his face. He did not wait for her response before he hunched over their child again. Placing both hands around their child, he pressed more kisses to her skin, firmer this time. Then he felt it again, this time against his thumb, “Dany!” he looked up in awe.

Daenerys smiled at him. Jon thought she glowed beautifully, “I think you woke her,” she teased, running her fingers through his curls, “Forgive your silly Father, he’s just jealous that he will not get to carry you until you’re born,”

Jon chuckled, shaking his head as he chided her, “that’s not a nice thing to tell our baby,” he caressed their child but then he paused and his thumb stilled, “her?”

Daenerys gave him a noncommittal shake of her head, “just a feeling,”

 _A daughter. My own daughter. My first._ Jon felt his middle warm nicely and he grinned, “she’s going to be as beautiful as her Mother,”

“If she is, how are you going to ward off suitors-“

Jon bristled and he declared firmly, “she will have nothing to do with boys until she’s at least five-ten!”

Daenerys blinked and laughed. She reached for him and took her scarred hand in hers, squeezing it, “that’s an awfully long time, Father,” she whined.

Jon shook his head, looking at Daenerys warningly, “don’t you speak up for her. That is final and not up for discussion,” his other hand palmed the swell of her abdomen gently.

“You’d want our daughter to stay un-betrothed and without any friends about her until she is five-ten?” Daenerys raised a brow.

“I did not say that she cannot have friends. She can have all the friends she want, just no boys would be allowed about her,” Jon shook her head, “boys can be terrible things when they try to be, I would know. All the rough-and-tumble and how careless they would be when they speak to her-“

Daenerys laughed, “Oh my sweet King,” she tugged him to her and he went, lying beside her, propping his head on a bent arm as he gazed at her. She paused then, “you’re serious?”

Jon nodded, without a trace of jest. Her smile faded and she frowned at him. Then Jon could not hide the laughter that bubbled in him and he laughed, shaking his head, “only partly,”

Daenerys smiled, “even partly is terrible,”

“Terrible?” Jon scoffed playfully, “I think not. She would be the Princess of Dragonstone. She would be my little princess. The King and Queen’s little princess,” he smiled as he imagined their child.

Then he met Daenerys’ eye and she sighed, “she would be spoilt rotten, wouldn’t she?” Jon laughed and nodded happily. _How else would you raise a princess?_  Daenerys shook her head at him as he said, “there can never be too much love for a lady, much less a Princess,” he grinned, “or a Queen,” he told her as he leaned over her slowly, kissing her neck and collarbone, “my Queen,” he whispered as she writhed beneath him, arching her back to press her body to his, “my Queen of Love and Beauty. There is no one more deserving than you,”

He pulled away to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her head arched back into the pillows, her lips parted. Eager to see her come undone by his doing, Jon shifted, knowing exactly where he wanted to kiss her; where it would pleasure her the most. But when he shifted from her, her eyes flew open and her hands closed around his arms, pulling him to her, “no, come here, I want to taste your lips,” she whimpered and he obliged, kissing her deeply.

Then they heard a knock on the the door of the solar before it creaked open abruptly. Their eyes flew open and Jon reached for the blanket.

“My Prince, we should not impose on the King and Queen-” they heard the wet nurse through the closed door of their private chambers. Just as Jon pulled the furs over them, their door flung open. Jaehaerys was standing at the door. Jon collapsed into the bed beside Daenerys, his head hitting the pillows soundly and he sighed. Daenerys was staring at Jaehaerys however, her brows knitted with concern.

“Jaehaerys?” Daenerys sat up, bringing the furs up to cover herself.

“ _Muña_ ,” Jaehaerys whimpered. As Daenerys reached for him, he ran to her side, his bare feet pattering on the stones. Jon sat up, frowning when he heard Jaehaerys’ whimper. Jaehaerys launched himself into his mother’s arms and Jon quickly caught his wayward knee, which was heading straight for her middle.

“What’s wrong, my little dragon?” Daenerys whispered, palming the back of Jaehaerys’ head and the other hand supporting his bum. Jon nodded and waved the wet nurse away. She bowed and left, closing the door. Jon then placed a hand on Jaehaerys’ back, alarmed to feel his little body trembling.

“Jaehaerys?” Jon rubbed his back. He exchanged a worried look with Daenerys then both of them turned to their son as he sniffed.

“ _Muña_ ,” he whimpered, “are you well?” his voice was softer than Jon has ever heard.

Daenerys smiled gently, nodding, “yes, Jaehaerys. I have never felt better,” Jaehaerys drew away from her and looked up into her eyes.

“Promise?”

Daenerys brushed his silver hair behind his ear, “promise,” Jaehaerys sniffed and buried his face into her neck.

Jon frowned, “what happened, Jaehaerys?” he asked gently, “come on,” he coaxed, “tell Father,”

Jaehaerys peeked at Jon from the corner of his eye, half his face still pressed to Daenerys’ shoulder, “dream,” he whimpered.

Jon gently stroked his arm, which was around Daenerys’ neck, “it’s alright, we are here with you now,”

“What was in your dream, Jaehaerys?” Daenerys asked and Jon looked at her to see her a vacant faraway look in her eyes.

Jaehaerys shook his head and buried his face into her neck, “it was scary,”

“Tell me about-“ Daenerys made to probe further but then he caught her eye and he shook his head. She made to object but then another whimper came from Jaehaerys, his arms tightening around her as his body continued to tremble. Daenerys nodded and pressed the side of her face to the top of his head.

“Can I sleep with you this night?” Jaehaerys pleaded, his voice muffled.

“Of course,” Daenerys told him immediately and Jon hung his head, barely containing a deep sigh. He heard her huff of amusement and felt her hit him gently on the arm with the back of her hand. He gazed at her then, knowing his desperate need for her was plain in his eyes. She has never been able to resist kissing him when he looked at her like that. As if on cue, her eyes drop to his lips, her tongue licking her own lips unwittingly. Then she closed her eyes and turned to Jaehaerys, “sleep,” she shifted to the side, away from Jon. Jon sighed as she coaxed Jaehaerys from her lap and into the space between them.

Over Jaehaerys’ head, she shot him a look of reproach and he smiled, kissing the crown of Jaehaerys’ head. Jon reached over for his pants and as he pulled them on under the fur, he glimpsed Daenerys pulling a robe over herself before tucking Jaehaerys under the furs. Their son sniffed as he scooted close to his mother, an arm around her waist. Jon gazed at the back of Jaehaerys’ silver-gold head, worried.

_White grows the lily._

_Red grows the rose_.

Jon looked up, surprised. Daenerys was propped up on her left elbow, gazing down at Jaehaerys as she sang softly. She brushed his cheek gently with the back of his fingers.

_Here lies my laddie._

_Look how he grows_

As she sang, Jaehaerys’ breathing gradually became more even and the trembling ceased.

 

**_Daenerys_ **

She gazed at Jaehaerys long after he fell asleep, his arm around her waist growing slack. Beside him, Jon stroked Jaehaerys’ back till he too fell asleep. She looked at Jon, a small smile on her lips. Half of his handsome face was buried in the pillows, his curly hair wild around his head on the pillow. Sighing, she propped herself up on her elbow and reached over Jaehaerys. Her fingers trailed gently over his bearded cheek.

Giving up on trying to sleep, Daenerys slowly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake them. Neither of them stirred as she stood. Going to her dressing room, she picked a simple loose blue Essosi dress and put it on. It left her back bare but her unbraided long silver hair fell over her bare back, keeping her adequately warm. She left the chambers then, with one thing on her mind.

As she opened the door to the chambers, two Kingsguard and one Queensguard, Qhono, stood guard outside the chambers. They turned to her as she emerged.

She instructed for Qhono to follow her and the rest to remain. They nodded and soon, Daenerys found herself walking down the dimly lit corridor, towards the guest chambers. It was very late and so, the corridors were empty but for the pair of Unsullied patrolling. They stopped to bow to her when they saw her. As she was about to turn the corner where she knew she would see the guards who donned familiar yellow Dornish garbs, a voice stopped her, “my Queen,”

She turned and beside her, Qhono drew his arakh. Jaime stood a short distance from her. He bowed in greeting and she nodded stiffly. She regarded him quietly for a moment. He was wearing a dark leather jerkin over a grey cotton shirt. His eyes were watching her hesitantly and she watched him shift from one feet to the other, “Ser Jaime,”

He inclined his chin as she acknowledged him. His green eyes stayed on hers as he said, “don’t,” she frowned at him and he continued, “I warned you about her for you to stay away from her,” Jaime said, “not to seek her out,”

“Are you spying on me, Ser Jaime?” Daenerys said instead, her lilac eyes boring into his.

He averted her eyes then, “not…spying…” Jaime muttered and he blinked, his eyes lowered, “I’m keeping you safe,”

Daenerys pursed her lips. _Another man trying to protect me. But could I punish him for that? He did no wrong beyond standing guard._  

Jaime’s eyes rose and met hers as he said beseechingly, “don’t seek her out. She’s dangerous,”

“And I am not?” Daenerys challenged, “you know what she did,” she said and as she expected, he showed no sign of surprise, “to the King,” she waited and Jaime did not respond so she took two steps closer to him, “he is my husband. I won’t do nothing,” she said in an undertone.

Jaime watched her quietly before his eyes lowered in resignation and he nodded. He understood. Then she turned from him, determined, “my Queen, let me come with you,” she stilled her feet, “I know I am no longer of your Queensguard but let me shield your back, as your subject,” she turned and regarded him. His left and only hand was clutching the hilt of his dagger at his hip, his sword on the other hip. She nodded once and a shadow of a smile crossed his face.

She then turned and walked past the corner, aware of Jaime and Qhono just a step behind her. As she expected, two Dornish men stood guard outside the door. As she approached, they turned to her, “is Lady Martell within?” she asked them.

They glanced to each other before one of them nodded curtly, “Princess Arianne has requested to not be disturbed-“

Jaime took a step towards them, a deep frown on his face, “the _Queen_ wants to see the Lady Martell,” he said in a low tone, “it wasn’t a request,”

The Dornish guards glanced to each other again, uncertain. Then finally, one of them nodded and turned and knocked. For a long moment, there was no answer. Jaime glanced to her and she met his gaze. _They would be civil._ Jaime blinked and turned back to stare at the remaining guard. Then a muffled call sounded from within and the guard slipped in. Moments passed before the door opened and the guard bowed, gesturing them through.

She met Jamie’s eyes before she walked into the chambers. A strong mix of various scents hit her and Daenerys felt a wave of nausea come to her. _Not now, little one._ Then she felt Jaime’s hand on her arm and she swallowed, steadied herself and entered. The chambers were dimly lit. There was a large table before the door but it was vacant and Daenerys turned to where she presumed the bed would be.

In bed, Arianne Martell was lying under the sheets. Beside her in bed were two other men and a woman. One man and the woman were under the sheets while the other man was lying on his stomach, over the sheets and fully naked. All three of them were asleep. Arianne Martell slipped out from under the sheets and stood bare before her. _She really is an attractive woman._

Beside her, Jaime took a step forward and seethed, “how dare you,”

Arianne Martell reached for a robe and lazily draped it over herself.

Daenerys raised a hand to her side and he paused, looking to her, “we’re the one intruding on Lady Martell’s night,” Jaime hesitated before he nodded, opting to stay by her side rather than behind her as Arianne Martell approached. Daenerys was grateful for his caution, as long as he did not question her decisions; not now before Arianne Martell.

Before Daenerys, she bowed, a small smile on her face, “your Grace, have a seat, how may I be of assistance?” she gestured to the table closer to the door and away from the bed.

Daenerys’ eyes remained on her as they proceeded to the table. Arianne Martell seemed unsurprised with her visit and carried herself with an easy confidence as she always did. All the while, even as they took their seats, Arianne’s dark eyes remain locked with her lilac ones.

The scents lingered in the air and the wave of nausea sat on the back of her throat, now accompanied with faintness. She took her seat with quiet gratefulness. She glanced to her side to see that Jaime stood close, less than an arm’s length away, his left hand still firm on the hilt of his dagger.

“There is no need,” Daenerys turned to Arianne Martell as the servants shuffled out to fetch refreshments.

“I insist, your Grace. I cannot be a poor host to the Queen,” Arianne Martell smiled.

Daenerys did not return the smile and slowly, Arianne’s smile became hesitant.

“To what do I owe such a late night visit?” the edge of her lips curled up as she wore her confidence again, and her dark eyes twinkled. It reminded Daenerys of how she herself wore the mask of a Queen. The servants entered again and Daenerys watched as they placed platters of food on the table between them before placing two goblets on the table and filling them with wine. When they left, Arianne gestured to the food, “please, do try the Dornish red that I brought from Dorne myself, it is nothing like the ones you have here,”

Daenerys stared at her, not making to pick up the goblet, “you are very bold, aren’t you?”

She replied, pride shining her eyes, “my father used to say I am braver than most of his military commanders,”

“Of course it wouldn’t do to have a coward rule Dorne, a proud Kingdom,” Daenerys said and Arianne Martell nodded, smiling, “but sometimes fear has its usefulness. It makes one smarter than one would be without it, for instance,” Daenerys watched the smile slowly fade from her face, “to know who they should not attempt to provoke and just like that, they may get to live a little longer,”

Arianne Martell stared at her, “I’m not sure I understand-“

“Touch the King again and I _will_ have my dragons burn you alive,” Daenerys interrupted curtly.

Silence fell on the chambers.

Arianne Martell, to her credit, barely flinched or show any signs of fear. Then she blinked and forced a smile and nod of acknowledgment. When Daenerys did not speak, she said, “have some refreshments your Grace,” she gestured. She then reached for a piece of dried orange peel and put it deliberately into her mouth, “it is a common food in Dorne but very delicious,” she chewed.

The sour smell of it was tempting, especially with the feeling of nausea threatening to have her vomit magnificently in front of Arianne Martell. Daenerys inclined her chin and took a piece. As she placed it in her mouth, she rose, “needless for me to say, the possible betrothal is no longer and you will return to Dorne immediately after the closing feast to contemplate your decision for the future of Dorne. And I expect I will be hearing from you regarding that decision before the next moon,” Jaime shadowed her steps as she proceeded to the door. He pulled open the door just before she came to it and as she made to step out, she paused and turned, “and thank you for the refreshment, it is delicious,”

Arianne Martell stood, staring at her, all traces of smile gone.

Without another word, Daenerys left with Jaime on her heel.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for any inaccuracy in the jousting description/ techniques! I tried my best to read up about it and come up with strategies, please do bear with it if it is wrong in any way (feel free to let me know too)!
> 
> Oh and the lullaby is stolen from Legend of the Seeker (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2IQhCxPA1U) - go have a look, it's a pretty sweet (short) song :)


	25. Chapter 25

**_Jon_ **

He smiled as Daenerys pulled his maroon robe close over his chest. She smoothened the robe and buckled it over his abdomen. Then reaching for the cape, she fastened it under his arm and over his chest so the black half cape covered his left arm and over Longclaw which hung from a belt at his hip. 

He gazed at her. Her eyes were fixed on where her fingers worked to fasten the cape. Daenerys has developed a habit to dismiss his squires, page boys and the handmaidens to help him get dressed. Jon did not ask her why but he knew it was in these moments that they could steal some time together, alone; as husband and wife rather than King and Queen.  

As she smoothened out his cape, smiling at him, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. He could feel the ornate silver dragon belt around her waist and a thrill ran through him as her body pressed up against his and he could feel the swell of her belly. He kissed her firmly on her temple, “I can’t wait for the tourney to be over,” he sighed.

Jon has had a long day. He had woken early to send Sansa off. Sansa left early this morning, having received an urgent message from Winterfell that she was needed to handle matters of a deserter from the Night’s Watch. Arya had opted to stay and Sansa had left a few of their men with her. Despite Daenerys’ insistence that she should be there as well, Jon managed to convince her to sleep in. Between the fatigue and his assuring words and soft kisses, she went back to sleep. Daenerys was sleeping more these days, often feeling tired. Jon had even caught her close her eyes for just a moment too long at the archery competition.

Jon knew the tourney was necessary but long days of sitting and behaving in a kingly manner had Jon more irritable than usual and especially when he saw how much this Tourney tired Daenerys. Having Daenerys by his side eased the discomfort some but he could never seem to engage in the easy banter with the Lords that Tyrion seemed so adept at or smile a smile so genuine when talking to people they barely knew, like Daenerys. So Jon had taken to join the hunts in the Kingswood with the Lords upon invitation and he had quickly became fast friends with many of them. He had spent his time, while Daenerys rested, sparring with them in the training yards or talking with Arya and Sansa.

“Well, after tonight, the Lords of the Noble Houses will return to their respective seats and you can go back being King to the common people,” she smiled. Jon nodded, cracking a smile. It was true. He did find it easier to speak to the smallfolk and holding court gave him more meaning as a King than engaging in political discussions with the Noble Lords. He was merely surprised Daenerys had noticed. She placed her hands on his shoulders and got on her tip toes to kiss him chastely, “you look very handsome tonight, my King,”

Jon was surprised when he felt his middle warm at her compliment rather than feeling the usual discomfort when complimented. He smiled at her, “and you look exceedingly beautiful, my Queen,” then his hand found the swell of her belly and he palmed it, his eyes meeting hers meaningfully.

She nodded in agreement to his silent question, “it’s time they know, while everyone is still here,” after the Grand Maester had confirmed her pregnancy, they have been deliberating when they should tell the people. They have already told Arya and Sansa a while ago. Jon felt there would be no more suitable night than this night; the feast to mark the end of the Queen’s Tourney.

Then they heard the telling patter of bare feet coming from the solar and the door opened. Prince Jaehaerys burst into the room, a blur of excitement as he ran towards them. Jon smiled, crouching to pick him up. Jaehaerys had not left Daenerys’ side for long since he came to their chambers, speaking of a nightmare. And even now, after Jaehaerys smiled at his Father, he turned to his Mother, touching her face as he always did, as if wanting to make sure she was really there.

“Where are your shoes, Jaehaerys?” Daenerys glanced down, amused. And Jon followed her gaze. Jaehaerys’ feet were bare and filthy.

“My Prince!”

They turned to see the wet nurse appearing at the door of their solar. She panted and bowed hurriedly when she noticed both the King and Queen looking at her. Daenerys waved her in and she entered, holding a pair of black boots.

“Pardon your Graces,” she begged, bowing deeply as she approached. Her hair was frayed in evident panic and some fear, “the Prince ran off when I turned to fetch his shoes,”

Daenerys pursed her lips and looked to Jaehaerys reproachfully, “it’s alright Jeyne, I’ll help the Prince with his shoes,” she reached for it and the wet nurse gave it, still bowed.

Jaehaerys saw her look and hung his head then turned to Jon, pouting. Glancing to see Daenerys turning away to take the shoes from the wet nurse, Jon smiled and winked at Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys giggled loudly and Jon dropped his smile when Daenerys turned around. The wet nurse left then and Daenerys regarded the both of them suspiciously.

She then reached for a cloth and wiped Jaehaerys’ feet, “you have to be more patient Jaehaerys,” she told him, “running away from Jeyne and the Kingsguards like that can be very dangerous,”

Jon tried and fail to suppress a smile as Jaehaerys bowed his head sullenly. Jon knew his son and he himself had chided Jaehaerys countless times for his habit to sneak away from his entourage. When he was chided, Jaehaerys would be undeniably remorseful but on the morrow, Jon would find the wet nurse scouring the Red Keep for him again, “why do you, Jaehaerys?” Jon asked suddenly and Daenerys looked up.

Jaehaerys bit his lips, “I don’t like them following me,” Daenerys sighed, looking at Jon meaningfully. They both knew where Jaehaerys got that from.

“They are there to protect you,” Daenerys said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Jaehaerys puffed his chest out, “I don’t need them, I have Suvion now!” as if on cue and probably hearing his name, loud scratching was heard at the door. Daenerys opened it a crack and the white direwolf slipped in. It was growing fast, the size of a large adult dog by now. The direwolf looked at Jaehaerys for a moment, “sit, Suvion,” Jaehaerys said sternly and the direwolf planted its haunches on the ground, looking up at Jaehaerys unblinkingly.

“Very good, Jaehaerys, Suvion,” Jon blinked, impressed. Jaehaerys grinned.

Daenerys slipped on his shoes for him, “regardless, I want you to promise me, no more sneaking away from your Kingsguards or Jeyne,” she locked eyes with him.

Jaehaerys looked his Mother, pouting, “no,”

“No?” Daenerys blinked. Jaehaerys shook his head obstinately and Jon pinched his lips together to keep from smiling as he watched the Queen and Prince engage in a battle of wills. Daenerys looked away then, sighing, “come here,” she reached for him. Jon handed him over and Jaehaerys went willingly, his arms going around her neck, “I want you to be safe. And as I have promised you, I will be well. It is only fair, that you promise me your safety as well. And your safety means having your Kingsguards to protect you,”

Jaehaerys looked at his Mother then and looked down sadly but he did not promise. Daenerys watched him pout, looking to be on the verge of crying. She sighed and kiss him on the top of his silver hair.

Then they proceeded to the feast and Jaehaerys ran ahead with Suvion on his heels. She turned to him, “your son is just like you,” she told him, “he doesn’t listen to me,”

Jon raised his brows, “my son?” he turned to her, “ _our_ son,”

She cracked a smile, “yes, my King,” Jon smiled, narrowing his eyes in feign annoyance of her addressing him so formally, “our son but he reminds me too much of you,” she gazed after Jaehaerys fondly, “in the way he sleeps, the way he loathe his own entourage and the way he refuses me,” she looked meaningfully at him and Jon smiled, recalling the many ways he had frustrated her with his refusal to abide by her wishes time and time again.

“If he is anything like me,” Jon gazed at her intently, “he will not be able to refuse you for too long,”

She glanced sideways at him, a smile on her lips.

 

**_Jaime_ **

He sipped at the wine in his goblet as he watched Tyrion walk away and engage the other lords in some riveting conversation no doubt. Tyrion had always been good with people and at forming relationships, political relations or otherwise. Tyrion had spoken to Jaime regarding his role as Castellan and had even offered him Lordship of Casterly Rock, saying it was his by right but Jaime knew that was not him. He was not meant to be a Lord, Tyrion was. And as he watched some Lord laugh at his brother’s joke, Jaime could not be surer that Tyrion was born to be the Lord of Casterly Rock.

“Is this seat taken?”

Jaime tensed at the familiar voice and accent. He looked to see Arianne Martell beside him. She stood closer than a normal lady would, the expanse of her chest and cleavage bared at eye-level. He looked away and stared at the goblet in his hand on the table. She ignored his silence and took the seat beside him.

“I saw the joust today-“

Jaime turned to her, staring at her as he asked, deadpanned, “did you also see the dragon?” _which would burn you alive if you make a wrong move._

Her confident smirk faltered but remained, “yes, it is very magnificent,” she said, “you joust very well, Ser Jaime,”

He scowled as she addressed him as such, “you did not participate in the joust,” he stated.

She shrugged, “in Dorne, we prefer to engage in real combat, not play at one,” Jaime sipped at his wine, “well, allow me to congratulate you, for the entertaining joust,” Jaime glanced to see her offering her hand. He considered ignoring her handshake but decided against it eventually. He put down his goblet and reached out to realise she had offered her left for him. _She is mocking me_. He had half a mind to withdraw his hand then but she clasped it in a firm handshake before he could. Her smirk widened just slightly as she released him. He picked up his goblet then, “I hope you enjoy the rest of the feast Ser Jaime, it was nice to know you,” she rose and left.

Glancing at her retreating back, he drained his goblet and waved to a serving girl for more.

Just then Lord Lefford had descended on him and Jaime was at first grateful to take his mind off how he had been stupid enough to be mocked by Arianne Martell but as soon as the first words were out of his mouth, he felt regret.

“Lord Lannister, I hope you remember me. I served with your Lord Father. Your Lord Father was one of the best-“ Jaime let Lord Leon Lefford drone on as he glanced over at the high table. He had no doubt Lord Lefford would not have anything of import to tell him, apart from kissing the Lion’s golden arse, as House Lefford has been known for. At the high table, the King was watching the dance performance and the Queen was watching the King. Jaime recognised the look in her eyes. It was how the King looked at the Queen as well.

The King and Queen had arrived at the feast with the King escorting the Queen and a hushed silence had swept over the crowd as they caught sight of the Monarchs. He heard some ladies whisper among themselves excitedly at how handsome the King was and he saw the glint in the lords’ eyes as they saw how beautiful the Queen was. Jaime himself found his eyes on her as she rose the steps of the high table and sat.

Jaime came back to the voice of Leon Lefford, and he sighed, taking a sip of the wine, hoping it would be over soon, “House Lefford would always stand by House Lannister, Lord Lannister, as my father and his father-“

“Pardon me, My Lords,” They turned and Jaime smiled.

“My lady,” Jaime rose, all too eager to rid himself of Lord Lefford. He reached instinctively for her hand and Brienne hurriedly offered it. Jaime took it and bent to kiss her hand. Then he turned to Lord Lefford, “would you excuse us, Lord Lefford?”

Leon Lefford nodded profusely, sweat on his brows, “of course my Lord,” he bowed and shuffled away.

Jaime watched him leave and sighed. Then he turned to Brienne. She was uncharacteristically quiet and he saw that she was looking down at her hand, still in his and Jaime dropped it. He raised a brow to see that her freckled cheek was slightly flushed, “when did you arrive?” he asked, sitting down; at least this way he could talk to her without straining his neck from looking up.

Brienne gathered her skirts and Jaime raised his brows to see she was wearing a blue dress which complemented her eyes. He had not even noticed before. As she settled awkwardly into the chair, Jaime realised too late he should have helped her to pull out that chair as she sat, “in the middle of the tourney,” she said. Her shoulder length yellow hair was pulled back into a small bun, “you seemed preoccupied every time I wanted to talk,”

Jaime nodding and he unwittingly glanced over at the high table. And his eyes stayed a moment longer than he intended when the Queen laughed at something the King whispered in her ear. Her laughter quickly faded to a small smile and the King withdrew from her as the servants served their meals to them. The monarchs did try to make an effort to appear the regal King and Queen they should be before the people but it was for naught. Even the brief moments their eyes met was telling that their marriage was not a mere loveless political alliance.

“I heard you were expelled from the Queensguard,” Jaime turned back to her, scowling, “what happened?” Brienne asked.

Jaime glared but then, looking into her sincere blue eyes, he realised she was not mocking him. He felt his anger quell and he replied, “I was impulsive and I offended the Queen,”

Brienne nodded. She had known the Queen at Winterfell and Jaime remembered she had spoken to the Queen and the Queen had been fond of Brienne as well, “so what would you be doing after the tourney? Would you stay here, in King’s Landing?” she asked.

Jaime shook his head and he ran his left hand through his short golden hair, “no, the Queen has ordered me to go to Casterly Rock and act as Castellan while Tyrion served as Hand,”

“There are worse places to be,” Brienne commented and Jaime nodded in agreement. Jaime glanced at her to see her looking down at her hands, shifting uncomfortably. He knew Brienne had returned home after the Great War. Her father was getting older and she was the heir to Evenfall Hall. It only seemed right to her then that she returned home to do her duty to her family.

“Is your Lord Father here as well?” Jaime asked, glancing around.

Brienne shook her head and she said quietly, “he has fallen ill over the last few moons. The Maester said he might not live past the next moon,”

Jaime blinked, “I am sorry,”

She swallowed, “he wants me to marry before he passed,” she looked up and caught his eye.

Jaime smiled, “well, I’m sure there would be many men who would be lining up-“

“Do not mock me,” a dark scowl casted over her broad features.

Jaime raised a hand, “you misunderstand me. As Lady of Evenfall Hall, there must be suitors…”

Brienne’s blue eyes regarded him for a moment before her glare softened, “there was. Until they saw me,”

Jaime shifted and sat forward, his elbows on his knees as he told her, “well, that’s because they do not know you yet,” he scratched the rough stubble on his chin as he thought, “maybe you can organise a ball of sort, for all the suitors and take your pick. There must one Lord who is wise enough to see past the warrior,”

Brienne’s eyes, which held his, dropped as she heard what he said, “there was ever only one man who saw past the warrior,”

“Renly,” Jaime remembered. She nodded and her eyes closed, her failure still weighing heavily on her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, only realising too late that it was bare when he touched her. She tensed, “you are a good person and you will be a good Lady of Evenfall Hall. I have no doubt,”

Then the unusual blush spread over her freckled cheeks again.

“You did not participate in the tourney,” Jaime frowned, puzzled as he realised for the first time. Then he looked over her to realise this would be the first time he ever saw her in a dress and without her sword.

Brienne shook her head, “no, I did not,” he raised a brow, “you fought well, Ser Jaime,” she smiled at him and Jaime felt himself return the smile. It was the most genuine smile he had received in a long time. Then over her shoulder, someone caught his eye. Arianne Martell was sitting at the table just across from him. She was sipping from her goblet as she gazed unblinkingly at the high table, “is that Arianne Martell?”

Jaime blinked and turned to Brienne, “yes,” he turned back to fix his gaze on her, watching her drum her fingers, laden with rings, on the table; almost impatiently and he frowned.

“Do you know her?” Brienne asked.

“Something like that, excuse me,” Jaime rose from his seat and walked towards the high table quickly, his eyes fixed on the Dornish lady who remained seated. There was something in her gaze that did not sit well with Jaime.

In front of the high table, the dancers bowed as their leader accepted their purse of gold from the King. Jaime walked along the side, in the shadows, and approached the high table.

His eyes fixed on the Queen, he almost forgot he was wearing his golden tunic rather than the armour and white cloak of the Queensguard. So he approached the monarchs by the side rather than in the front, from which a Lord like him should seek an audience.

Two Unsullied stepped forward and closed off his path to the Queen as he approached. The Queen turned at the disturbance and he looked at her beseechingly. Beside her, the King, too, had turned to see what was wrong.

“Uncle Jaime!”

Jaime tore his gaze from the Queen to see the Prince hopping off his chair and running towards him.

The Prince stopped behind both the Unsullied when he realised he could not pass, “ _dekuragon paktot_ (step aside),” the Prince said sharply to both the Unsullied but they hesitated; it was not an order from the Queen. Eventually, they stepped to the side. The Prince stepped forward.

Jaime bowed, “my Prince-“

The Prince came to his side and held his right golden hand. Jaime smiled.

The Prince had asked Jaime about his golden hand when they had first met. At that moment, in his grey eyes, Jaime saw that the Prince, only a child, meant no harm. They had sat and Jaime told him how he lost his hand; leaving out the more gruesome details. Jaehaerys had hung his head as Jaime finished his story. Then the Prince had looked at him sadly and slipped his small hand into his golden one. Since then, whenever Jaehaerys took his hand, he would always choose his right golden one and every time the Prince took his cold hand, as if there was nothing wrong with it, Jaime warmed inside.

“Uncle Jaime, where have you been? You have not been at my lessons!” Jaehaerys lamented.

“Haven’t you been busy at your riding lessons?” Jaime raised a brow and he crouched before the Prince, “and I saw you shoot from horseback that day. You ride like a horselord already. You would be a great warrior,”

Jaehaerys grinned, “you really think so? Can I be a knight like you?” his eyes shone.

_Like me…I hope not._

“Even better,” Jaime smiled, “you will be a King,”

Jaehaerys pouted then, “being King is boring,”

Jaime dropped his voice to a whisper, “you did not tell your King Father that, did you?” Jaehaerys shook his head and giggled loudly.

“Jaehaerys,” a stern but soft voice called and Jaime’s heart quickened.

The Prince turned and went to the Queen. She beckoned to him and as the Prince came to her side, her arm wrapped around him, holding him to her. He saw her say something to him but he could not hear from where he was over the music that played as the dancing began. Then the Prince lowered his head, pouting.

The Queen looked up at him and he bowed, “my Queen,” he looked to the King, “my King,” the King nodded at him. The Queen then looked at him expectantly. His plan had ended after he successfully positioned himself beside the Queen, to thwart any plans Arianne Martell might have. But now, he knew he needed a reason for him to stay with her.

He took a step towards the Queen but beside her, a knight stepped forward and Jaime recognised Ser Jorah behind the helm. The Queen raised a hand and Ser Jorah stepped back, sheathing his half drawn sword. Jaime took another hesitant step. When he saw the Queen tense visibly, he stopped, “my Queen,” he started, gazing into her lilac eyes, “I would be departing for Casterly Rock on the morrow,”

Her face was unchanging. It could be the trick of the light but Jaime thought he saw something shift in her eyes nonetheless, “you have come merely to inform me of your departure?” He felt a pang of ache at her monotonous words. Jaime’s eyes dropped as he nodded.

 _No. I came to protect you but you would think you do not need it. And as strong as you are, you never did most times._ He was proud of his Queen, who was as beautiful and kind as she was strong. Thinking her words a dismissal, he made to take a step back, ready to bow and leave. But then she unexpectedly spoke, “I never thanked you,” he paused and looked at her. Her gaze was soft, softer than before, “for that day in the training yard,”

Jaime bowed and said thickly, “the honour is mine, my Queen,” Jaime glanced towards the feast where couples were beginning to dance. He shifted uncomfortably as he thought of what he intended to do, weighing what he wanted to do with what he knew was appropriate and what he should. But as he straightened and he looked at her, he knew deep down he might never see her face again; that he would never again have the honour to stand in her presence. At that thought, he looked to the King, “with the King’s permission, I would humbly request for the honour of a dance with the Queen,”

The King’s face was unreadable as his grey eyes regarded him coldly, “I am in no position to give you such permission,” he replied flatly, “it is the Queen who you ask to dance with and only she can grant you the honour, if she so wishes,”

Jaime then looked to the Queen. She was staring at him, surprise only evident in her slightly raised brows; that he would have the audacity to ask her for a dance. But Jaime knew only because she was Queen for if she was merely a daughter of a Noble Lord, Jaime had no doubt the Lords would fall over each other to dance with her.

He bowed low and offered his left and only hand, “if I may humbly request for the honour of a dance, my Queen,” _the first and the last._

“You dare,” he heard the Queen say, her tone not telling of what she thought so he looked up. There was no anger in her eyes, as he feared, only disbelief and some admiration for his bravery or stupidity, he did not know.

“I do, I did,” his sass coated reply left his lips before he realised he had not merely thought it, “your Grace,” he added hurriedly; respectfully.

The Queen turned from him and looked to the King. An indecipherable look passed between them before Jaime felt the warmth of her hand in his offered one. He felt a shiver pass though his arm and he straightened as she stood.

As he led her down the steps, Jaime had never felt more nervous to dance. He had admittedly never danced with many ladies but when he was forced to, he did so easily and often without even taking a second glance at said lady; usually a lady whom Jaime had danced with to pacify his father.

But as the Queen stood in front of him practically glowing in all of her beauty, he felt his hand begin to tremble.

_She is lovely._

**_Jon_ **

Daenerys had looked to him as Jaime Lannister stayed bowed beside her, a hand offered. He could see she wanted to accept his offer and Jon did not know why but he knew she would have her reasons. He guessed it must have been regarding her gratitude to him in the incident she mentioned and owing to his last night in King’s Landing. And so he quietly agreed.

Jon knew how this would look to the Lords and Ladies but he did not care. He did not own Daenerys any more than she owned him. Daenerys was the Queen and a Queen might not be able to do as she pleased all the time but at least, she could choose who she was to dance with. Truthfully, Jon had been surprised she had turned to him, a questioning and concerned look in her eyes.

As Daenerys slipped her hand into Jaime Lannister’s, Jon had expected a bitter taste to settle in his mouth, as it had years before at Winterfell but he did not feel anything beyond adoration for Daenerys as she walked gracefully down the steps, looking beautiful as she always did.

As Daenerys stood before Jaime Lannister and they began dancing, Jon watched Daenerys glance to her feet before hurriedly looking away from them. He smiled, reminded of when they had first danced and he had told her not to look at her feet. It warmed him to know she remembered what he had said. His smile widened as Daenerys danced hesitantly but he thought she looked beautiful. He smiled as he mentally noted to dance with her later, when they returned to their chambers.

He watched as they spoke while dancing, their faces serious. Then he felt a tug on his sleeve, “what is it, Jaehaerys?”

“Mother?” Jaehaerys’ brows were furrowed deeply, his eyes worried and his little lips in a frown.

“She’s right there,” Jon pointed and Jaehaerys looked at where Daenerys was dancing with Jaime and he looked back to him. At Jaehaerys’ feet, Suvion whined, walking between and around Jaehaerys’ feet. Jon frowned as he looked between the two of them then looked to Daenerys.

The song had stopped and Jaime Lannister respectfully bowed and kissed her hand. Jon smiled at her as Daenerys looked to the high table, reaching for Jaime Lannister’s arm as he offered to escort her back to her seat. As their eyes met, he offered her a smile but it faded as Jon saw her face contort in a sort of helplessness and some pain.

Then, she sank to the ground.

Jon felt his stomach drop. For a moment, it was as if the world had disappeared around him and the blackness under his feet threatened to swallow him whole. He did not realise when he stood and ran from the high table until he had stumbled over the last step, barely catching himself. Jon did not know if he had shouted but the Unsullied were converging on the Queen, to protect her and him, the Kingsguards and Queensguards close on his heels.

As he came to her, he fell heavily to his knees beside her. She was on her back, her eyes glazed and staring up at the night sky. Her mouth was rapidly filling with blood and as she choked on it, the blood spurted from her mouth, staining her chin and cheek as her head lolled limp to the side. He reached for her then, cradling her head in his numb arms.  

“Dany…no,” he whispered, barely able to find the strength to speak. It was as if the blood had drained from his body, as it did from hers.

“Your Grace we have to-“ Jon barely registered who it was but he saw a pair of arms reach for Daenerys and made to carry her.

“Don’t touch her!” Jon seethed and the pair of hands withdrew. He slipped his arms under her back and knees and stood. He felt her warmth on his skin through her dress and he took enough comfort from it to tear his gaze from her. His widened eyes darted aimlessly, searching through the chaos. Then he heard himself scream, “SAM? SAM?! HELP ME!”

“JON! Bring her to the chambers I’ll meet you there!” he heard Sam’s voice amidst the chaos and Jon turned to the direction of Maegor’s Holdfast and begin running. As they burst through the crowd and fresh air whipped into his face, Jon felt the fog lift and suddenly, he could hear the chaos all around him. People were shouting and around him, the Unsullied had formed a tight knit circle that kept pace with him.

Amidst the chaos, he looked down to see a clarity come over Daenerys’ eyes that were now dark purple instead of lilac. As they focused on him, Jon felt his heart wrench; the pain was plain in her eyes.

“Daenerys, my love, be strong, we’re almost there,” he told her thickly.

She forced a smile up at him and Jon felt his heart stop as his mind brought him back to a distant memory, in the snow where she was pale as she was now and she had smiled at him as she did now, “don’t sleep Daenerys, no matter how tired you are, you can’t sleep!” he cried.

She nodded weakly, her head against his arm, “Jon,” she whispered, almost only mouthing the words, “everything…will…be…fine-“ a fresh wave of blood bubbled from her mouth, her body retching most of it over her cheek and into his robe. In that moment, he felt her pain as his own, “Jon…”

As they approached Maegor’s Holdfast, a roar from the skies shook the very ground they stood and then a horrific scream, almost inhuman, tore through the air, “MOTHER!”

Jon looked down to see that Daenerys’ eyes were closed and his feet slowed, his body suddenly numb and weak. He could no longer feel his limbs.

“MOTHER!” the Prince pushed through the Unsullied and came to them. His little face was red and tears were streaming down his face. He reached up and yanked on Daenerys’ limp hand, “YOU PROMISED!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me :|


	26. Chapter 26

**_Jon_ **

The Unsullied opened the door to their chambers just as Jon came to it and he ran straight to the bed. He gently placed her on it, his hands coming up to cup her cheek. Her eyes were closed and her face was pale. Blood seeped from her closed lips and he wiped at it with his thumb frantically but a fresh trail quickly replaced the smears his thumb left.

Jon blinked away tears as he looked at her, “Daenerys, open your eyes,” he coaxed and shook her gently but she did not respond, “Dany!” he cried, then he turned to the Kingsguards and the Unsullied standing around them, uncertain, “WHERE ARE THE MAESTERS? BRING THEM NOW!”

A flurry of activity ensued at his order, the men almost tripping over each other as they scrambled to obey.

“Daenerys, don’t do this,” he pleaded, “don’t leave me alone again,” she remained unmoving and a sob escaped him as he hung his head. He froze then as he glimpsed the pillow on which she lay begin to soak through with her blood.

Then the door flew open, slamming against the wall behind it. Jon turned, feeling some semblance of relief come over him as the Grand Maester burst through the door with Sam at his side.

“Julian, Sam, quickly! She’s not moving,” Jon cried. Both Maesters ran to them.

“My King, if you will,” the Grand Maester muttered before he edged himself into the space Jon occupied and Jon shifted to the side, his hands reluctantly leaving her. He peered over their shoulder as they worked. The Grand Maester and Sam exchanged a look as they opened her eyelids and peered into her eyes.

Then Daenerys began choking, coughing and blood spluttered from her lips. The Grand Maester shifted and Jon lost sight of her. He retreated till his back touched the stone walls, helpless; he could only watch as her life’s blood left her, seeping into their bed.

_It is my fault. I should never have allowed her to leave my side. I should have protected her._

Then Jon saw red. He shot to his feet and ran out the chambers with one name in his mind: _Jaime Lannister._

As he exited the solar, he ran into someone.

“Ow!” the person yelped. Jon stumbled back but managed to stay on his feet. He glimpsed the other person fall to the ground, hard. Jon ignored said person and ran down the corridor, a hand on the pommel of Longclaw, “Jon! Where are you going?”

He did not stop until a hand wrapped around his arm and yanked. Jon was pulled to a stop and he spun around, angry, to see the face of his sister, Arya.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Where is Jaime Lannister?” He snarled. Jon felt, in that moment, he could kill the man, with his bare hands. He would rip the Kingslayer limb from limb.

“Captured,” Arya told him, “he’s being thrown into the dungeons as we speak by our men,” _Stark men._

Jon paused.

“This is not the time for revenge, how is Daenerys?” Arya asked, her eyes wide with concern and fear.

Jon stiffened. He felt unbearably cold at the mention of her, “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Arya then opened her palm to him and in it, was a necklace. Jon stared, “this could be the antidote but the Maesters should check it,”

Jon looked at her. He dared not believe, “where did you get this?”

“Jaime Lannister,” she replied.

He glowered, “no, I will not give this to her. How can you trust him?” Jon hissed, having half a mind to toss the offending item away.

Arya grabbed him around his shoulder, “I don’t but this is a chance we will have to take if the Maesters cannot cure her!”

“No,” Jon glared.

“You would rather let her die than give this a chance?” Arya snapped.

Jon glared at her and his hands clenched into fists at his side. Arya glanced down at his hands but they both knew he would never harm her. Jon gritted his teeth and growled instead, “ _she will not die._ ” _I will not allow it._ With that he turned back to Maegor’s Holdfast with her on his heel. Arya was beside him when he came to the closed door of their chambers.

Then, as he stood there, staring at the wooden door, the last of his anger ebbed away to be replaced by fear. Jon was grateful Arya did not take the liberty to open the door; he was not ready for what news awaited him beyond it.

He reached for the handle, trying and failing to stop his hand from trembling. Then Arya’s hand covered his, “be brave, big brother. Whatever happens, your son needs you,” _Jaehaerys_.

Jon clenched his teeth and nodded, opening the door. The smell of blood was overwhelming. _His wife’s blood._ Jon teetered on his feet. He felt Arya’s hand on his shoulder and he took those steps to the open door of the sleeping chambers. Within, he glimpsed Sam and the Grand Maester. When they saw him enter, they looked up and paused.

And Jon froze. He opened his mouth and found he could only say one word, “Daenerys,” he walked to the bed and Sam shifted aside.

She was as he had left her. Her dress was removed and she only wore her smallclothes. Everywhere Jon could see was covered in blood. He stood beside her bed and slowly, he reached for her hand as he sat.

Then he heard her take a soft ragged breath. And with that, it was as if she too drew breath for him. He felt sweet air fill his lungs and he closed his eyes, soaking in the relief. Tears gathered in his eyes and sobs racked his body. He pulled her hand, clasped between both of his, to his lips, “my Queen, my strong and brave Queen,”

“Jon,” Sam approached and he stiffened. Something in his voice stifled his relief.

Jon looked up at Sam. He was standing beside him, his apron soaked with blood as were his gloved hands. Sam flinched as Jon looked at him but Jon did not drop his gaze. Sam hesitated, “what is it?  Tell me,” Jon demanded.

“It was poison, an aggressive one,” Jon felt his hands tightened protectively around her hand and rage bubbled in him, “the Queen lives, for now. We have taken some poison from her blood and will be studying it for an antidote,” Sam said and he hesitated to continue. Jon prepared himself for what was to come but nothing could prepare him for it, “we couldn’t save the baby,”

Jon felt numb. He lost sight of Sam and lost the feel of Daenerys’ hand in his. _Our child. Our sweet innocent child is dead. We will never see her, never know her._ His hand twitched with the vivid memory of the feel of the gentle flutter within Daenerys’ womb just under his palm. _Does she know how much her Father loves her? If she knew, will she still believe it now if she knew he had failed to protect her? I loved her and I failed her and I can never tell her how sorry I am._

“Jon?” Sam shifted and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing it, “the baby saved her,” Jon looked up, “the little princess or prince saved the Queen. Without the baby, the poison would have overwhelmed her. We would not have been able to treat her in time and the Queen would not have lived,”

“Sam,” Arya stepped forward and showed him the necklace, “can you check this? It might be the antidote,” Sam’s eyes widened, hopeful.

“No,” Jon stood. Arya turned to him, “I won’t let Jaime Lannister to do more harm than he already did,”

“You don’t even know if he was the one who poisoned her!” Arya retorted.

“He did!” Jon screamed, his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. Then he blinked as he saw Arya’s and Sam’s wide-eyed stares, “I-“ he muttered before he sank to the bed, rubbing his eyes with the bloodied heel of his palm.

“Let the Maesters have a look at it at least,” Arya said softly, “surely they would make sure it is safe,”

Sam added, “we will not give it to Queen without your permission,” he assured, “but the Queen does not have much time, Jon,”

Jon closed his eyes and nodded stiffly. Then the Maesters left the room with the necklace.

It was quiet then.

Jon removed his hands and his eyes found Daenerys. He felt some semblance of comfort touch him at the sight of her; alive. He reached out and cupped her cheek gently. On her chin, there were still traces and smears of blood but her skin was soft and warm and Jon felt the warmth straight in his heart, starting to heal the gash there.

He glanced to see Arya approach on the opposite side of the bed, “she’s a fighter,” Jon could not look away as he gazed at Daenerys’ pale face. He already knew she was. _She always has been_. She was the strongest person he knew, “I am sorry,” Arya said. _The baby._ Jon felt a pang in his chest and he closed his eyes against the pain.

He shook his head, “you know what the worst thing is?” he heard a voice that did not sound like his own, murmur. Arya kept silent, “if I must choose between Daenerys and the baby, I would do nothing to change how it is now,” silence fell over the room, “I really am a terrible father,” he scoffed, “I don’t deserve my children…I don’t deserve someone so perfect, her,” he gazed at Daenerys, his wonderful, beautiful wife.

“You love her,” Arya sat down on the bed, “your children love their mother,” she placed a hand over his, which was over Daenerys’ and Jon felt a sort of strength as he gazed at their hands. _The pack survives_ , “and I know I would not hesitate to give my life for my mother’s,”

“The child is innocent,” Jon whispered. Then something Daenerys had said of Jaehaerys came back to him. _He never is. He is the son of the King and Queen._

Arya nodded and said softly, “I know,” she squeezed his hand, “be strong, Jon. You’re a Stark and-“

“The Starks will endure,” Jon said in unison with her. _Father always said._

Arya smiled sadly, nodding.

But he was not merely a Stark, he was a Targaryen as well. And he knew their words.  

_Fire and Blood._

Jon felt his free hand curled into a fist in his lap.

“I will kill him,” Jon hissed.

Arya raised a brow, “the Kingslayer? We don’t know if he did it, Jon. When I caught up to him, he had Arianne Martell at his feet and he was holding the antidote. Why would he stay if he had poisoned Dany?”

“I don’t know what schemes the Kingslayer is plotting. But he was the only one who was near her in the feast and he was with her when she fell,” Jon glared at her, “you saw,”

She stared back, “I did, but I did not see him poison her,” she shot back.

“Why are you speaking up for him?” Jon growled.

Arya bit her lips then and she glanced to Daenerys once before she said softly, “because Dany went to her, Jon,”

Jon blinked, “what?”

“She went to Arianne Martell, after the joust, in the middle of the night. Jaime Lannister went with her to protect her,” Arya said, “I don’t what happened inside but you know better than I, that Arianne Martell has no love for the Queen,” Jon swallowed. Dany never told him. She went against his wishes and she kept it fromhim. Arya said then, “regardless, we will know after the Maesters have examined the antidote,” she stated and Jon looked away.

Then Arya turned to leave, “Arya, you said he is being held in the dungeons,” she turned back to him. He stood, “bring me to him,”

 

**_Jaime_ **

As they began to dance, Jaime could not help but stare at her. She had kept her distance from him but this was the closest he had ever been to her. She was not looking at him but then she spoke, “I am grateful for your loyalty, Ser Jaime. But your expulsion from the Queensguard…it was necessary,”

He tensed and nodded, “I understand,” he truly did but he only wished he had not done it, and forced her hand. _What kind of Queen would she be if she tolerated, not mere disobedience, but a complete disregard for her direct command?_ He was a fool, “I only wish I could stay,” _by your side._

The Queen looked up at him and Jaime stopped breathing as he gazed into her lilac eyes. At this proximity, he saw that her eyes were not merely lilac. Within them, there were circles of golden around her pupils, like rings of fire. Jaime could not help himself as he lifted his gloved left hand to her face and his hand came over her cheek, barely touching her skin. He gently ran his thumb over her soft bottom lip but she leaned away and he dropped his hand quickly, “this is not farewell, Ser Jaime,” she said softly, “you’re the only family in this world Tyrion has. He would appreciate seeing you once in a while,”

“Only Tyrion?” he blurted, gazing intently at her.

The Queen blinked and looked away. Then she opened her mouth to speak and Jaime knew he would not want to hear her next words but he will; they were her words, the words of his Queen, “Ser Jaime,” she started gently, “you have helped me more than you know you have; by telling me the truth about my family, and who I am. For that, I am grateful and…” her eyes darted to and held his, “I will forever consider you a dear friend,” he tensed, “nothing more,”

Jaime flinched unwittingly no matter how much he willed himself against reacting. Her eyes watched him, deeply apologetic and he knew she saw him flinch. But Jaime did not want to see that in her eyes; pity, so he told her, “you are loved, my Queen,” _I love you_. He wanted to say but he did not, it was not his place. Nonetheless, he felt her tense at his words, as if she could hear his thoughts. He continued, “by the thousands; by the people. And thousands more will come to love you in your reign,”

He felt her relax and her lips curved into a hint of a smile but as quickly as it came, it faded, “you once said that my coin had landed right,” she said suddenly and he nodded. He remembered, their first conversation and the first time he had made her smile, “do you still think so? Did it truly?”

Jaime frowned. He had seen doubt in her eyes as they spoke of her family but she had never spoken of it or asked him, as she did now, “did something happen, my Queen?”

The Queen paused, “no,” _she doesn’t want to tell._

“Your Father went mad and everyone knew it but him,” Jaime decided to say what he could, as he always did in an attempt to provide some comfort or reassurance she seek. The Queen was never a simple woman and was always difficult to read and even now, the walls around her remained strong, “if he had known, he might not have been mad after all,”

The Queen sucked in a breath subtly as her brows furrowed while she thought.

“Whatever may happen, House Lannister will stand with you,” he told her and with his eyes, he told her what he thought. _I will stand with you. I will stand with you and I will die for you._

She nodded and smiled. Then the music stopped and Jaime stepped back. He knew his time with her has ended and he doubt he would ever forget this. He asked for her hand and when she granted it, he pressed a feather light kiss over her knuckles. As he straightened, he offered an arm to escort her to the high table where the King sat and she made to slip her arm through his.

But then she froze. Her brows furrowed and blood drained from her face. Her eyes glanced over him before she looked to the high table. Her knees buckled beneath her then and Jaime felt as if his heart had stopped. He instinctively caught her before she could touch the ground and he sank to his knees with her in his arms. A distant memory came to him then and it was as if he had been punched in the gut.

A name: _Myrcella_.

_No._

Around them, panic ensued.

He heard someone shouting orders and the Unsullied marched, closing in on them.

“Daenerys?” he frowned, feeling panic clawing at him. Her head was leaned up against his arm and she was looking towards the high table but her eyes were glazed over and unseeing. She looked almost delirious. Then her body convulsed as she choked. Fresh thick blood filled her mouth and as she coughed, blood splattered over his gold tunic and over her cheek, “Daenerys!”

_Myrcella…Ellaria Sand._

He looked up, glimpsing a flurry of yellow disappear behind the curtains, just between two approaching Unsullied.

Jaime turned to his Queen in his arms, torn. But then he knew what he had to do. He placed her gently on the ground and without a moment of hesitation, he tore through the converging ranks of Unsullied, vaulting over toppled chairs and shoving past panicking bodies. He glimpsed a flash of yellow turn left ahead and he spurred himself to go faster. Then as he turned the corner, he felt someone grab his shoulder. Instinctively, he brought his elbow back and felt it smash into the person’s arm.

Jaime turned and quickly backhanded said person with his golden hand. When the person fell to the ground, Jaime saw who it was; Arianne Martell. She glared up at him. Resembling Oberyn Martell years before, like a viper, she lunged swiftly, a dagger in her hand. Jaime twisted his body to the side and the tip missed his abdomen by merely inches. He brought his golden hand over the dagger and as it hit her hand, he heard a loud crack of her bones and the dagger clattered to the ground loudly.

As he reached for her with his left, she stepped back nimbly and unfurled her whip from her belt with her other hand. Jaime drew his sword then.

“Did you do it?” he asked quietly.

She lashed out, her whip whistling through the air. Jaime brought his sword up and blocked the whip but the momentum of the whip brought the tip to his face, cutting him on his cheek and into his cheekbone. He snarled in pain, stepping back. He could feel blood already dripping from his cheek. Then she brought her whip around and swung it at him again. Jaime brought up his sword to block it again but he was unable to. The whip skimmed his shoulder and cut him deep. He winced, staggering to the side. He stared at the whip to see small glass shards on the length of it, designed to cut.

He took two quick steps forward, closer and swung his sword. She swung her whip to meet his blows and his sword was deflected by the whip. Then as he brought his sword around to attempt to cut her on her exposed arm, she flicked her wrist and her whip wrapped around his sword and with another flick of her wrist, his sword flew out of his hand and clattered to the floor behind her. She glanced at it and then turned to him.

“Did you do it?” Jaime narrowed his eyes.

She smirked and raised a brow, a smug glint in her eyes.

That was confirmation enough for him and Jaime felt a rage consume him, his left hand, missing his sword, curled into a fist and began to tremble, “what did the Queen ever do to you? She saved this country, including your House!”

Arianne Martell seethed, “saved? She brought an end to House Martell even before the Great War! Because of her, Ellaria is dead. My cousins are dead. Killed because of her stupidity in trusting a Lannister. I am the only one left of House Martell,” Jaime froze as she growled, “I came to court and thought maybe, I could spare her. She seemed a better Queen than we have seen in generations but then I saw _you_ and your imp brother; Lannisters who brought the death of my uncle, Oberyn, and my aunt, Elia, and her children. This bitch Queen never learns; she is taking advice from Lannisters. And when it was announced that my aunt Elia was abandoned by Rhaegar Targaryen, the noble Prince of Dragonstone, her children now bastards, I knew then the Targaryens owed the Martells too much,”

“She owes you nothing, all she did, she did it to save your worthless lives,” Jaime snapped, “you will die for what you did,” Jaime said coldly, “and it will be the end of House Martell,”

She raised a brow, “will I? Will it?” she challenged and Jaime did not see her move but he heard her whip. _She means to remove my head and with that whip she just might_. Jaime brought up his right golden hand instinctively to defend himself and the whip wrapped around it when it should have been around his neck.

Her smirk faded as she glanced to his face to see her whip had not even hurt his hand, when it normally would have decapitated. Panic flashed across her eyes as he lodged the whip between the thumb and palm of his golden hand and winded the whip firmer around his hand, reeling her in. She tightened her grip on her whip and held her ground.

Jaime yanked hard and the whip slipped out of her hand. She staggered forward. Glancing at her whip in his hand, she turned and fled. Jaime bent and picked up her dagger and threw it at her. The dagger found the back of her thigh. She cried out and crashed to the ground heavily.

Jaime stomped over and flipped her over with his feet. As she did, he glimpsed her frantically reaching for the vial at her neck. He crouched and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“Is that the antidote?” he demanded.

She glared at him. Jaime lunged forward and tore the necklace from her neck, drawing back before she could grab for it. He pressed a foot to her chest, pushing her against the floor roughly. He then narrowed his eyes at her.

“Tell me!” he kicked her thigh, the one in which the knife was embedded and she howled in pain. Then Jaime paused, “it doesn’t matter,” _I wouldn’t believe you, whatever your answer is._ He closed his hand around the necklace. Then he heard a bark and looked up to see men running towards them, shouting. The white direwolf running ahead of them. _Suvion._

Then Jaime stumbled back as Arianne Martell used the distraction and shoved him off. She staggered to her feet and Jaime reached to grab her but then in a blur, the direwolf leaped on her, its fangs sank deep into her shoulder. She screamed and dropped to the ground.

Jaime turned to the approaching men to find himself looking down the wrong end of a sword, a small thin sword. He looked at the person who wielded it to see the face of Arya Stark, staring up at him.

“Lady Stark-“ he started.

“Seize him,” she said and Jaime blinked, shocked as the Northmen came forward and grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. He tried to shove them off but there were three of them.

“Wait,” he held his ground as they made to shove him forward, “I have the antidote for the Queen!”

Arya turned, a furrow between her brows. She came around and stood before him, staring at him expectantly. Jaime tried to pull his hand free but the Northman held it firmly. At Arya’s nod, he released his hand and Jaime opened his palm to her, the necklace in his palm. Arya looked at the necklace and she brought her sword forward, hooking the necklace towards her. _Smart girl_. “Where did you get this?” she asked coldly.

Jaime glanced to Arianne Martell, whom the Northerners had yanked to her feet. Blood was gushing down her shoulder from the bite mark. Arya followed his glance and met his eye again with an understanding.

“Check it before you give it to the Queen,” he said stiffly.

She did not reply. Then she turned to the men, “take him to the dungeons,” Jaime went quietly, his head hung low. Then the guards escorting him paused and he looked up.

Jaime paled.

Jaehaerys stood before him, his trembling hand a tight fist in Suvion’s fur. The white direwolf bared his teeth at him, blood dripping from its jaws. Jaehaerys’ eyes were downcast before they lifted to meet his. Jaehaerys’ grey eyes were red, swollen; almost bloodshot as they met Jaime’s. Jaime blanched as he realised how this must look to the Prince; the sweet boy who had always trusted him, loved him even.

“Jaehaerys-“

“Did you hurt Mother?” Jaehaerys asked thickly, tears welling up in his eyes that Jaime knew they should never harbour so much pain and anger.

Jaime held his gaze firmly and said, “no, I did not, Jaehaerys,”

The Prince lowered his eyes but the tears did not fall and Jaime could not tell if Jaehaerys believed him. Then beside him, Jaime glanced to see Arya gesturing to the guard and the guards shoved him forward, towards the dungeons.

*

It was damp and dark and reminded him horribly of the months he spent in the black cells but this was better. Moonlight filtered through the small window high in the cell and once in a while, he could hear the footsteps of the guards down the corridor. He had not seen Arianne Martell since they were both dragged down the dungeons and pulled in separate directions. Jaime could only wish the guards would not be stupid enough to let her slither her way to freedom. She was a cunning one.

Suddenly, he heard the creak of a gate that was closer than he had heard so far. He stood and pressed his face to the bars but he could only glimpse some light from a torch. Someone was approaching. Instinctively, he stood away from the bars and two silhouettes stopped in front of his cell. He blinked, blinded momentarily by the torch but then, he saw the King and Arya Stark standing in front of his cell.

He knew he should bow but he did not and instead gave in to his impulses, blurting, “how is the Queen?”

The King glared at him and Jaime paused as he puzzled the look.

_He suspects it was me._

And Jaime supposed it made sense. He had danced with the Queen for a while before she collapsed and in that time, he could have pricked her or fed her the poison. But even the thought of an attempt on her life like that sickened Jaime to the core and he almost threw up the wine he drank at the feast. He literally did not have the stomach to do it. But evidently, the King thought differently.

“Thank you. Leave us,” the King glanced to Arya and said quietly.

Arya looked between him and the King and gave the King a meaningful look. Then she turned and left. As her footsteps faded, the King stared at him unblinkingly. Jaime was not a patient man but he resolved to hear what the King had to say first.

“Did you poison the Queen?” the question echoed into Jaime’s cell and the words haunted him.

He wanted to scream that he did not, but looking at the King now, he knew he was already guilty. Whatever Jaime said, just as it had been years ago with Ned Stark, he would be judged guilty. So Jaime asked instead, “is the Queen well?”

“It depends on what you thought the poison would do to her when you gave it to her,” the King shot back.

_Guilty._

Jaime bristled, “why would I harm the Queen when all I have ever done and will ever do is to protect her?”

“Just like how you protected her when you went with her to meet Arianne Martell?” the King shot back quietly.

Jaime froze. The Queen did not tell him. _The food. The fucking refreshment._ Jaime closed his eyes, regret sinking deep. _She was already poisoned when we left that room,_ “I should have stopped her,” _she should not have been allowed to be anywhere near Arianne Martell, that viper._

“Why would you when you intended to kill her anyway?” the King muttered.

Jaime stepped closer to the bars and he looked into the King’s eyes as he stated flatly, “I did not do it,” he snarled.

The King glared at him, “why should I take your word for it?” he took a step towards the bars, his dark Stark eyes boring into Jaime’s own emerald ones, “the Queen trusts you because she has a good heart; never looking at lowborn, cripples, slaves or bastards differently. Because she did not grow up hearing about what you did, how many innocent people you hurt. I did. I know. And I don’t trust you,” he hissed, “the North Remembers,” _Guilty._

Jaime tensed as his past came back to haunt him. Then he paused, blinking. He steeled himself against the shame he felt as realisation, as to why the King came down to meet him, came to him, “you haven’t given her the antidote,” it was not a question and the King’s jaw tensed.

Jaime came to the bars then, gripping it, desperate. The King stood his ground.

“You fool! You’re killing her! I would never harm her!” Jaime hissed, willing him to understand. Then he threw all caution to the wind, knowing full well the next words could be cause for his death. But if it would allow the King see reason and even consider to give her the antidote and save her life, it would be worth it, “ _I love her_ ,”

The King’s face remained impassive but the dark eyes hardened at his words.

Jaime then closed his eyes and willed himself to calm down. Only reason would change the King’s mind, not blind rage and insolence, “the Queen ate something Arianne Martell provided in her chambers when we went to her. Arianne Martell herself ate it so she thought it safe. And the antidote, I took the antidote from Arianne Martell _after_ I stopped her from fleeing from the feast. She was reaching for that antidote when I stabbed her with her own dagger, which I believe is poisoned,” he paused, “maybe- maybe it’s a trick from her. I don’t know, which was why I told Lady Stark to make sure it was safe before giving it to the Queen,”

The King regarded him a moment longer, his eyes black as coals.

Then the King suddenly stepped back, “you are free to leave Jaime Lannister,” Jaime let out a breath he did not realise he had been holding. He could hear the guards approaching, presumably to let him go.

Jaime bowed and made to ask if he would give the Queen the antidote and if he could see her. But as he straightened and looked into the King’s eyes. He saw the same look that confused him. _Guilty._

The King said then, his voice void of emotion, “You will never be near the Queen again,”

Jaime tensed and looked at the King, his brows furrowing, “what-“

“You and the Lannister men will leave the capital at once and are not to return unless summoned,” the King said, “if you are seen in King’s Landing without leave or my express invitation, I will execute you myself,”

With that, the King left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS LAST CHAPTER. They really motivated me to write and so... here it is. I'm not fully satisfied with this chapter and may come back to edit this at a later time but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: heavy, depressing and angst filled chapter. Apologies in advance.

**_Jon_ **

As he exited the dungeons, he turned and headed straight to Maegor’s Holdfast, his Kingsguards on his heel. His hands were still clenched and trembling.

 _I love her_.

Those words had nearly pushed Jon to the bars to strangle the life out of him. Jon could watch, satisfied, as the light leave those green eyes forever. But Jon knew it was not right because Jaime Lannister was innocent. He was nothing but loyal. The man meant what he had said and Jon had looked into his eyes and Jon believed him; he did love the Queen. And even amidst his distrust for the man, Jon had to admit that with that admission, it was unlikely he would harm the Queen.

So, Jon did what he could in his rage and sent the man away. He would never want to see Jaime Lannister again and if he did, Jon could not say he would not kill the man; so he promised he would.

As he entered Maegor’s Holdfast, Jon stopped walking, half expecting to hear the patter of bare feet around the corner and the music of joyful laughter but the corridors were dark and quiet and Jon felt it chill him down to the bone.

For a moment, Jon allowed himself to picture a beautiful dark haired, lilac eyed girl screaming for her father as she ran down the corridor and into his arms. When he closed his eyes, he could feel her warm weight in his arms, he could smell the sweet scent of her dark braided hair, he could see the way she smiled toothily at him as he kissed her hair. He could see her face; the very image of her mother.

 _Kepa_ (father). He could hear her sweet giggle as she babbled up at him. _Papa._

_My daughter, my child… my blood._

_Papa loves you._ He would say to her as he kissed her again.

Jon blinked to see a dark empty corridor ahead and it was dead silent. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes before he proceeded towards the Prince’s chambers. As he turned into the corridor that led to the chambers, he heard a loud alarming crash.

“My Prince-“

“NO!” A scream, “GO AWAY!”

Jon frowned, picking up his pace. As he approached the door, the wet nurse and handmaidens were outside. The two Kingsguards were outside as well, standing with their backs to the door. They turned and bowed as the King approached.

“What is happening?” Jon asked, glancing to the closed door.

The wet nurse remained bowed, “the Prince…” she paused, at lost for words. 

Jon turned to the door and knocked, “Jaehaerys,” he said, “can I come in please?”

“Go away,” he heard a whimper from inside. Then heard the whine of the direwolf.

“Jaehaerys,” Jon sighed, “open this door,”

“No,”

“I am coming in,” Jon told him. There was no sound of objection from within so Jon opened it. He blinked as a wave of heat hit his face. The chambers were unbearably hot, almost as if it was on fire. Jon stepped in and saw that might as well be true. In the fireplace, a large fire roared and Jon had never seen so many candles being lit in one chamber. On the floor in front of the fireplace, his son was curled up on his side, “Jaehaerys…”

“GO AWAY!” Jon flinched and paused as Jaehaerys jumped to his feet and screamed. Jon felt his heart begin to ache as he looked at his son’s face; red, his eyes bloodshot and filled with tears, his lips bloodied and raw from chewing. Jon approached nonetheless. Jaehaerys glared at him before he reached to his side, his little hand closing over the burning candle and he flung it at Jon.

Jon ducked it as it soared at his shoulder. He glanced back and stamped out the flame before he proceeded to his son, who was now standing with his back to him, facing the fireplace. When he was within arms’ length, Jon got on his knees and wrapped his arms around Jaehaerys.

“NO!” The Prince howled. He struggled, pushing at his hands, kicking and screaming as Jon pulled him into his arms. Jon felt his little fingers claw at his arm to free himself and Jon felt his heart break. He pressed a firm kiss over Jaehaerys’ silver hair, closing his eyes and willing his son to stop.

Soon, Jaehaerys’ incoherent screams became hoarse, weaker, and he fell limp in his arms, exhausted. Jon held him tighter, shushing him gently as Suvion whimpered, nosing Jaehaerys’ hand but Jaehaerys did not pet him as he always did. Jaehaerys stared into the fire, “ _Muña_ ,” Jaehaerys murmured.

“She will be alright, Jaehaerys,” Jon whispered.

Jaehaerys did not react and instead he muttered, “she promised she would be well,”

Jon pressed his cheek to Jaehaerys’, relieved Jaehaerys did not made to push him away, or maybe he was simply too exhausted, “sometimes…there are some things that are not within our control, Jaehaerys. Some things that even as King and Queen, Father and Mother cannot stop. Yes, your Mother promised you and she never intended to go back on her word,”        

“So why did she promise me?” he whimpered and Jon could feel Jaehaerys’ jaw trembling against his cheek.

Jon nuzzled Jaehaerys with his bearded cheek. It always made him giggle but this time, Jaehaerys barely reacted. Jon turned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “because she loves you. When you love someone, you would not want them to worry; worrying is a terrible thing to feel,” Jon choked and in that moment he could hear her whisper to him; _Jon, everything will be fine._ The last thing she would ever say to him if she- Jon blinked, shaking away the thoughts, “she wants to be well, Jaehaerys. She wants to be healthy and be with you, and me-“

“And _hāedar_ ,” Jaehaerys interrupted.

Jon frowned, puzzled.

Jaehaerys turned to him and looked up at him, “my little baby sister,”

Jon choked, feeling tears well in his eyes.

Jaehaerys frowned, reaching up and placing a small hand on his cheek, “she protects _Muña_ ,” Jon squeezed his eyes close against the tears before he looked down, not wanting Jaehaerys to see the tears stream from his eyes.

“She did, Jaehaerys,” Jon whispered. Then Jon frowned as he realised they had not told Jaehaerys that he would be having a baby sister, “how did you know you would be having a little sister?”

Jaehaerys’ eyes lowered and his raw lips turned down in a frown, “I saw her, in my sleep. She said she will protect _Muña,_ ”

“Jaehaerys… what else did you dream?” Jon turned him around so Jaehaerys stood facing him.

Jaehaerys bit his lips and shook his head adamantly. He stepped out of his Father’s arms and towards the fireplace but Jon caught his little hand in his. Jon turned it over in his hands to see dried cool wax all over his palm, where he had grabbed the burning candle. As he removed the wax, he ran a finger over his perfect hand, entirely unscathed, in awe. Daenerys had protected her child even when she was not here; she protected him with her blood. Jon knew the pain of being burned only too well, on his right palm and over the expanse of his back. He would want his child to feel it, or any pain for that matter.

“Jaehaerys,” Jon started and looked at him to see that his son was staring at him, “I want you to tell me all about your dreams,” he cupped his rosy cheek gently.

Jaehaerys paused and his lower lip trembled, “they are scary,” he said softly.

Jon gently caressed his cheek with his thumb, “I know. But you have the blood of the dragon, the blood of the wolf and even when you were only a babe, you are always brave and strong,” he squeezed Jaehaerys’ hand, “when you are ready. Father will listen,”

Jaehaerys nodded and took a tentative step before pressing himself into his Father’s embrace, his face in Jon’s shoulder. Jon sighed in relief, wrapping his arms around his son. As he palmed the back of Jaehaerys’ head, Jon realised how small and fragile Jaehaerys was. He could remember how terrified he was to hold him as a babe and even now, Jon worried Jaehaerys might break. In that moment, Jon thought, realised, he would die for Jaehaerys, he would die to protect him. He will do for his son what he could not do for his daughter.

Hugging him firmly but gently, Jon rose to his feet. He carried the Prince to the bed but Jaehaerys’ arm tightened around his neck and Jon went to the chair instead. He sat, adjusting Jaehaerys in his lap. Neither made to let go of the other.

“I love you, Father,” Jaehaerys said, his voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I love you too, Jaehaerys,” Jon closed his eyes and pressed his nose into Jaehaerys’ hair, “my son, do you know how special you are?” he told him and tightened his arms around him; his and Daenerys’ personal miracle. They, especially Daenerys, had never thought they could have a child together; they did not even think they could have children, Jon being a bastard and Daenerys cursed. But against the odds, Jaehaerys came to them, “you are loved, Jaehaerys. So very loved.”

Jaehaerys then withdrew his head from the crook of his Father’s neck, “you are too, Father. And you are special too,”

Jon smiled, shaking his head, “not like you are, Jaehaerys,” his thumb running over his palm meaningfully.

“Yes, you are!” Jaehaerys scowled stubbornly and Jon chuckled in disbelief; his son was as fierce as his mother in protecting Jon, even from himself. Jaehaerys then hugged him firmly again, pressing a wet kiss on his chin. Jon paused then and gazed down at his son.

_Could his son be right? How could Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark have expected to have a child together when it was already a dream for them to even be together?_

Jaehaerys looked up at him and he said, “I will be a good King when I get older and bigger, just like you Father,” _a good King? Good Kings protect their Queen and protect their Princess._

For the sake of Jaehaerys, Jon forced a smile then, brushing back Jaehaerys’ hair, “you will be much better than me,” looking in Jaehaerys’ bright eyes now, Jon truly believed that. He only wished he could be here to see Jaehaerys sit on the throne, King Jaehaerys III; how the people would love him.

Then a soft knock sounded, almost hesitant.

Jaehaerys’ cherubic face scrunched up into a scowl then and Jon said, “enter,” Sam shuffled in, “well?”

Sam glanced around the room, a hand coming up to wipe his brow as sweat beaded from the heat then as his eyes settled on Jon, Sam smiled, “it is the antidote,”

Jon felt relief flood into him but then a part of him tensed; Jaime Lannister did not lie. This proved him innocent. Jon gently extracted Jaehaerys from over him and placed him on the ground. Jon stood, “are you certain, Sam?”

Sam nodded, “the Grand Maester checked it with the poison we got from the Queen’s blood. Twice,”

Jon pursed his lips, “Sam what did you find out about the poison?”

“Not much at the moment,” Sam said, “the Grand Maester is still studying it but it is lethal, Jon. Whoever gave it did not expect her to live. And the Queen would not, if not for-” Sam caught himself then and pressed his lips together.

He gritted his teeth before he nodded, “I will give the antidote to the Queen myself,” then he crouched before Jaehaerys and looked into his eyes, telling him softly, “Mother is going to get better again,” a wide smile spread over Jaehaerys’ face and the world suddenly seemed brighter for Jon.

**_Arya_ **

She exited the dungeon, hoping Jon would not do anything rash but she trusted him. For as long as she has known him, Jon was the one who always did what was right. He was the one who always upheld what their Father taught and did; to act with honour no matter the cost. But they were a pack and Jon would not fight this alone. Someone had harmed a member of their pack and Arya had let it pass under her nose but no longer.

She went back to the grounds of the feast to find the servants cleaning up the area. Where the Queen had collapsed, the carpet was still stained with blood. They bowed to her when they saw her and she nodded.

Arya came to the table she had sat at during the feast and looked at the empty tables around her. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember everyone and everything that had happened. It was something she had learned while at the House of Black and White, when she was tasked to spy on people; whose names were given to the Many Faced god. She remembered where everyone was at in any point in the feast.

Jaime Lannister was sitting at the table where Westerland Lords sat. Brienne of Tarth had joined him and they were talking. Arya walked to the table in question and pulled out the chair Jaime Lannister had sat in.

She looked up from her seat and from here he could see Arianne Martell, who had sat at another table, alone. She was drinking from her goblet and had been for the entire feast. She had only left her table once, exchanging pleasantries with Jaime Lannister. Arya remembered that the Queen and the King were seated at the high table with the Prince with them, bounding between them and his own seat with Suvion.

Then both Jaime Lannister, upon noticing Arianne Martell, had rose and walked to the high table. Arya retraced his steps. He had a conversation with the King and Queen. Then Jaime had then escorted the Queen for a dance. Arya remembered watching them closely, a wolf watching the back of another of its pack. The look in Jaime’s eyes was undeniable as he looked at the Queen as they danced. He had raised his hand to brush her lips but the Queen had pulled away, frowning.

Arya walked to the spot they were dancing at, over the bloodied stain on the carpet. She then looked up where Jaime Lannister had took off and walked in that direction.

She had found them in the corridor; Jaime Lannister’s feet on Arianne Martell, both their weapons on the floor, where they remained now. Arya crouched and she drew Needle, allowing the end to touch the whip. The whip was tough and hard, the length of it had little glass pieces that had some blood on it. Jaime Lannister had a cut on his face and shoulder when she found them. _They fought._

Then she went to the sword. It was a handsome thing. The pommel was in the shape of a lion, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the moon. _Jaime Lannister’s sword._ She knelt beside the sword, looking at it, from the sharp tip to the hilt. Then she paused, frowning. She reached for her handkerchief and brought it around the edge of the sword carefully. Bringing it up, she took a closer look at the hilt. Carefully, she ran the blade of Needle over the hilt. The blade came away with a white residue.

She frowned as she looked at it. Then suddenly, the sight of Jaime Lannister’s hand coming up to the Queen’s face, her lips, came to Arya. Her eyes widened and she sheathed Needle. Bringing the sword with her, she ran as fast as she could.

Jaime Lannister had poisoned the Queen. And he had given them the ‘antidote’. _No, please no. By the Old Gods…not Daenerys._

**_Jon_ **

Jaehaerys had obediently went to bed with promises that he could see his Mother on the morrow. Then Jon had left quickly to the Queen’s chambers with Sam on his heel. As they entered, Missandei and the two Dothraki handmaidens were just removing the rags and basin of bloodied water. They bowed and Jon nodded his thanks before they left.

The sheets were changed and Daenerys was wearing a clean soft cotton nightgown. There was no sign of the blood from before. Sam handed him the vial and Jon took it, closing his fingers over it. Then Sam turned to leave.

Jon sat slowly by her side, taking her hand in his. Her skin was warm and soft and he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Then as he gazed as her sleeping visage, an unpleasant feeling came to his stomach, churning it as memories of four years came flooding back to him.

“You’ll be well again. I’ll make sure of it,” he told her firmly. Then he looked at the small vial in his hand, considering it. The Grand Maester and Sam have checked it twice but Jon could not help the fear that creeped into his chest.

_What if they were wrong? What if they were all wrong somehow and I killed her? How could I live with myself then? How could I live without her?_

“Dany,” he squeezed her hand. Staring at the vial in his hand, he uncorked it and shifted forward. He gently slipped an arm under her shoulder and lifted her. He brought the vial to her parted lips as her head lolled back onto his arm. His hands were trembling terribly and he could not shake the feeling that this was wrong, “find your way back to me, Daenerys,” he told her. Then he tilted the vial and watched the liquid drain from the bottle and into her mouth.

“Jon!” he startled and looked up to see the door burst open, “don’t-“ Arya stood at the door. In her hand she clutched a sword by its sharp edge with a cloth. Her eyes widened as she saw the empty vial in his hand, “no…” she whispered and Jon let out a shaky breath, the empty vial falling from his hand and shattering on the floor.

**_Jaime_ **

Maegor’s Holdfast had never seem more forbidden to him than it did now, with two Unsullied and two of the King’s men behind him. It was a struggle even for them to allow him to walk to Maegor Holdfast. There was nothing more he wanted than to see the Queen, to see that she was well and alive. He needn’t even touch her, he just wanted another glimpse of her.

Then a voice sneered at him. _You knew in the feast, in that dance, it would be your last._

Jaime lowered his eyes and turned away. It was time. He walked to the square, where he knew the Lannister men are readying to leave, as he had commanded before he came to Maegor Holdfast. Then he paused. He needed to see one person, someone he was not forbidden to meet. As he turned in the opposite direction of the square, he heard one of the King’s man protest, “Kingslayer, this is not the way out of the Red Keep,” Jaime ignored him, “The King has ordered you to leave-“

“And I will,” he said sharply as they approached the dungeons and he was glad they did not stop him as he entered the dungeons. There was no exit from down there anyway. He came to the guards and they stepped to block his way, “I want to see a prisoner,”

“Who? On whose permission?” The big one grunted.

“Arianne Martell. The King,” Jaime lied.

They regarded him with suspicion, “you were ordered to leave,”

“Some matters I have been ordered to close,” Jaime said, “you understand,” they narrowed their eyes at him. Jaime dug into his pockets and drew out two golden dragons. Their eyes widened and Jaime tossed one at each of them. They stepped to the side and he walked into the dark damp dungeons, taking a torch from the wall on the way down.

Then he came upon her cell. She was standing and in the light, Jaime could see she had wrapped her injured thigh with a cloth. She turned to him as he stopped outside her cell. She tensed when she saw him; free.

“You’re not dead,” Jaime was stunned. He had taken the antidote from her and if her dagger was truly laced with poison, she should be-

“Did you think I am stupid?” she snarled and limped closer to the bars. _She had another antidote._ But it was good, Jaime supposed, that she was alive. If she was not, _who would I kill for revenge?_

Jaime glared at her, “it doesn’t matter what I think. You failed,”

She narrowed her eyes, “did I?”

“The Queen is being given the antidote as we speak,” Jaime said and she tensed, “was it the refreshment she took?” _But it took too long, didn’t it? Unless it was the way the poison worked…_ “How did you do it?” he demanded when she did not reply.

She looked at him in contemplation for a moment. Then she laughed, startling Jaime, “you really have no idea,” she quelled her laughter, with great difficulty and smirked at him.

Jaime stared at her a moment longer then suddenly a chill came over him and the King’s words echoed in his head.

_Did you poison the Queen? Why should I take your word for it?_

_Guilty._

Jaime felt his feet shuffle back from the cells instinctively, “no,” he shook his head at her.

Arianne Martell laughed, “you loved her too much to leave without saying goodbye, without touching her, and she cared too much for you to let you,” she smirked and Jaime could not even muster anger at her; his heart froze over and his blood stilled in his veins, “you are pathetic, Kingslayer,” _Kingslayer. Oathbreaker._ The words echoed in the dungeon as it did in his mind.

“No,” he said, “I did not do it,” he looked at her, seething, “I _didn’t_!”

Then Jaime heard men shouting from the entrance.

He looked up and turned to her. Arianne Martell said slowly, “they know it was you,” she stepped closer, both hands coming up to the bars, “you. should. run.”

Jaime ran, her sound of his laughter following him.

He burst out of the entrance to see Unsullied soldiers and the soldiers coming to the dungeons. When they saw him, they broke into a run and Jaime turned towards the square, shoving aside the gaolers.

_I did not do it! I didn’t!_

But the King would never believe him so Jaime ran faster. As he made to run up the serpentine steps, he paused and turned to look towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

_Daenerys, you know me. I didn’t do it._

“Stop!”

Jaime startled and turned to see the soldiers closing in on him. He ran up the steps and turned into the armoury, closing the door behind him. Shoving aside a large rack of swords, he pushed aside the rug over the wall and ran his hand over the stone in the dark, “come on,” he muttered and then he felt a crevice between two stones. Jamming his fingers between the stone, he pushed it with all his might. It grated noisily as it was pushed aside to reveal a small opening, just enough for one man.

Glancing back at the closed door, he slipped into the gap and ran, his shoulders bumping against the cold wet stones. It led him downwards and the corridor widened as he remembered. Jaime had accidentally found this secret passage when he was a young Kingsguard and had always kept this to himself.

As he saw a dim light in the front, he ran faster. Pushing aside the stiff gate that was overgrown with brambles and thorns, Jaime scrambled through the thick overgrowth and soon, he came to shadowblack lane, just beyond the postern; he was out of the keep. He glanced back at the Red Keep, hesitating, before he turned, bowing his head, and walked quickly towards the city gates.

 

**_Jon_ **

Jon gazed at her intently, her hand clasped in his and pressed to his lips. Daenerys looked like she was sleeping, peaceful and her face was thankfully not as pale as it had been and Jon allowed himself to hope.

Arya was sitting on the other side of the bed, a hand on Daenerys’ other hand, over her abdomen. Jon had not spoken to her since she had told him what she found and he had given the order for Jaime Lannister to be brought to him at once. Now, Jon prayed that the Maesters were right and somehow, despite Jaime Lannister’s betrayal, the antidote was real.

He looked up when he heard the door open abruptly. Tyrion walked in. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair tousled. Jon knew Tyrion had drunk himself unconscious at the feast before chaos had ensued. The Lord Hand had retired to his chambers early with a woman on his arm. Now, the Hand was dressed in the doublet he wore at the feast, but his undershirt was hastily tucked and his clothes were creased.

“Your Grace,” he greeted hastily as he approached but his eyes stayed on the Queen, “I came as soon as I heard,” Jon turned to Daenerys as Tyrion came to the side of the bed, “how is the Queen?”

“Alive,” Jon replied stiffly.

Tyrion frowned, turning to the King and then turning to Arya, “who…?”

The King muttered, “Jaime Lannister,”

Tyrion paled, “no…it-it can’t be. Jaime would never-”

Jon spun and looked at Tyrion angrily, “he did! I believed him when he said he didn’t and I am the biggest fool in all Seven Kingdoms!” he shouted before he turned back to Daenerys, squeezing her hand.

“What evidence is there?” Tyrion asked but Jon did not reply, his eyes fixed on Daenerys.

Arya stood from the bed, “he was the last one in contact with the Queen before she was poisoned. And his sword. There was a residue on the hilt and I have asked the Maesters to check it. It looked like poison, smelled like bloodflower, which would produce the symptoms the Queen had,”

Tyrion raised his brow, “bloodflower, the one that leave traces in the form of powder everywhere it went? Wouldn’t that require some form of consumption for it to work? Not merely a touch surely. Jaime couldn’t have-“

Jon felt his blood begin to boil and he shot to his feet, “BUT HE DID!” Tyrion and Arya jumped.

Tyrion opened his mouth to speak but blinked instead, closing it. It took a moment before Tyrion asked quietly, “will there be a trial at least, your Grace?”

Jon pursed his lips. _No_. He wanted to say. _The moment Jaime Lannister walks through that door, I will kill him myself and mount his head on a spike._ But that was not the honourable way. Revenge rarely was, only justice, “aye,” he replied stiffly. Tyrion let out a breath visibly.

Then there was a knock from the solar and Tyrion paled. Jon walked briskly past him, their eyes locking for a brief moment. Tyrion turned and followed close on his heel, Arya beside him. The door opened and the Grey Worm came in, his helmet under his arm. Jon inclined his chin and Grey Worm said, “he escaped,”

Jon saw red and he turned, kicking over a chair. It fell over, smashing against the table before it crashed to the floor, “ _Jaime Lannister_ ,” he seethed. Then he spun on Tyrion, “where will he go?”

Tyrion hesitated.

Jon closed the distance between them quickly and Tyrion stepped away, flinching, “he may be your brother but you have a duty to the crown, first and foremost, Lord Hand!” he growled in a low tone through clenched teeth.

Tyrion averted his eyes, “and I will do my duty; and advise my King against doing anything impulsive at this moment-“

“I am not being impulsive!” Jon snapped, “I have said Jaime Lannister will be brought back here for a trial and a suitable punishment will be given if found guilty. But _he will be brought back here to me,_ ” Tyrion regarded him doubtfully and Jon glared at him.

“Jon,” Arya placed a hand on his shoulder and Jon almost shrugged it off but stopped himself, “you are not yourself, brother,”

Jon stiffened but his eyes remained on Tyrion, “where will Jaime Lannister go?” he repeated quietly.

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know. Maybe Casterly Rock but that is too obvious. If he means to hide, he will not go there,” he glanced to Jon.

“Then where?” Jon hissed. Tyrion did not reply and Jon turned to Grey Worm, “send men to Casterly Rock. Scour the city for him,” Grey Worm bowed, “when you find him, bring him to me,” Jon glanced to Tyrion before he said, “only to me,” Grey Worm nodded and left. Then he turned to his squire by the door, “bring me Varys,”

Jon turned and swept past Tyrion without sparing him a glance, going to Daenerys.

**_Tyrion_ **

He closed his eyes as the King exited the solar. Sitting down at the table, he sighed. He had drunk himself till he had almost collapsed in the feast, managing to lumber into bed with a beauty only to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows. Then he had woken to news that the Queen had been poisoned. He had grabbed his doublet and wore it as he ran to the Queen’s chambers.

The King looked terrible, almost alarmingly so. His usually tamed curly locks were wild around his pale face. Dark circles, almost black, were under his grey eyes. His lips were thin under his moustache, pressed into a permanent frown. His tunic was stained with an alarming amount of blood, the Queen’s blood no doubt. And when the King angered, for the first time, Tyrion saw murder in his eyes. In all four years as Hand, Tyrion had not seen the King like this; so angry, almost frenzied, especially when he heard Jaime had escaped. He was in no position to preside over a trial although the King himself did not seem to think so.

Truthfully, Tyrion had been relieved to hear Jaime had escaped for he knew Jaime did not do it; he could not have. Jaime was a lot of things but he loved fiercely and no one could deny he loved the Queen. Bloodflower was found on Jaime’s sword, from his glove no doubt but Jaime knew naught of poison and even if he did, he would not have been so stupid as to select something that was without a doubt easily traceable. Someone was trying to frame him.

Tyrion massaged his temples. His head was pounding.

“Do you know where he went?”

He looked up to see Arya looking at him, approaching the table and taking a seat beside him. Tyrion looked at her and nodded once, “I have my guesses,”

She pursed her lips and nodded but remained silent.

“You’re not going to make me say where?” he asked quietly.

Arya sighed, “Jon is not himself now,”

“So you think Jaime is innocent?”

She glared at him, “Jaime Lannister is anything but innocent,” she shot back, “but… in this… there is more to it. Arianne Martell is no doubt involved as well,”

Tyrion sat straighter, “Arianne Martell?”

“Dany went to her, with Jaime Lannister, the night after Jon won the joust,” Arya said, “there are plenty of moments in which Dany could have been poisoned by Arianne Martell as well,”

Tyrion supposed Arianne Martell was not an unlikely candidate. Her discussion for an alliance with the Crown had not turned out well the last time and poison was always a woman’s weapon. But Tyrion could not see why a failed proposal would push her to put her life in such risk and make an attempt on the Queen’s life.

Tyrion frowned as he thought, “where is she now?”

“She was caught and thrown into the dungeons. I found her with Jaime Lannister, they seemed to have fought,” Tyrion stared at the table, quiet. Jaime had probably went ahead to catch the culprit for himself, or who he thought was the culprit. And now, Jaime himself became a prime suspect. His brother was a brave man but some intellect often escapes brave men like him. _He would be the ideal person to take the fall for attempted regicide, a crime punishable by death._

“Have anyone spoken to her?” Tyrion asked.

Arya shook her head, “only Jaime Lannister, from before I caught them,”

Then there was a soft knock and Varys slipped in to the room. He went to the table when he saw Tyrion and Arya. 

“Do you know who did it?” Tyrion asked.

Varys shook his head, “my little birds have been quiet lately but there have been whispers from the east,”

Tyrion frowned. The Crown did not need more problems on their plate, “what about?”

“Whispers of a revolt among the Masters,” Varys said and Tyrion sighed. Although slavery have been abolished and did not return, the divide between the former slaves and slavers was ever-present and from that, tension and bitterness. But that was a problem for another time, their friends across the narrow sea would have to learn to manage by themselves, for now, “how is the Queen?” Varys frowned, glancing to the closed door of the private chambers.

“Still alive,” Tyrion said, recalling the bone chillingly cold tone of the King.

Sensing a tension in the room, Varys asked, “and the King?”

“Different,” Tyrion rubbed his face, “he thinks Jaime did it,”

“He let Jaime Lannister go,” Varys pointed out.

“Yes, but that was before I found evidence that he might have been the one who poisoned the Queen,” Arya chimed in, “the hilt of his sword was covered with poison,”

Varys blinked and turned to Tyrion, his brows furrowed and Tyrion sighed, replying his unsaid question, “I don’t know. It could be a misunderstanding. Jaime could be framed,”

Then the doors of the private chambers opened and they paused to see the King standing there. Arya stood quickly, “Daenerys-“

Jon shook his head, “nothing,” he said and Arya nodded and sat back down but she did not release the breath she held. Jon then turned to Varys, “Varys, find out where Jaime Lannister is,” Varys nodded with a bow and he said to them, “I will hold a trial for Arianne Martell on the morrow to hear what she has to say,”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke and Jon turned to him sharply. He continued, “I do not think you should preside over the trial,”

“You’re asking me to recuse myself,” the King glared.  

Tyrion stood from his chair, “your Grace,” he paused, knowing he would have to tread carefully as he put it to the King but there was no way around it. So Tyrion took a deep breath and said, “the need for revenge often clouds one’s judgement,”

“As King, it is my duty to preside over this trial justly since I am able. And I will,” the King retorted.

Tyrion replied, “with the unique circumstances, I am sure the people will forgive an exception,” 

Arya spoke then, “Jon, you have just lost a child and with Dany critically injured, you can’t be thinking right-“ Tyrion blinked, staring. _A child? The Queen had been with child?_ The trial would be for murder… not a mere attempt then. _All the more, the King should not preside this trial._

Jon spun on her and he hissed, “don’t you dare, Arya,” Arya stared at him, unflinching. Then Jon turned to Tyrion, “Lord Tyrion, I _will_ preside this trial,” He replied evenly, with finality, but there was also an unfamiliar undertone; threatening him. And at that moment, Tyrion had never been surer that the King should definitely not be involved in the trial. “You will be a judge in the trial. As will Willas Tyrell. That will be all, leave me, all of you,” he waved them away.

_Willas Tyrell. The man whose leg was crippled by Oberyn Martell; Arianne Martell’s own uncle._

**_Jon_ **

It was well into the night when he jerked awake, his hands instinctively clutching Daenerys’, that lay limp between his. He lifted his head from the bed. He groaned as his neck cricked stiffly. He rose from the floor gingerly, his legs numb and he sat on the bed beside her. He had fallen asleep while he watched her, willing her to wake.

As he gazed at her now, images of blood filling her mouth and flowing down her chin came back to him and he was terrified.

They had all said he was not his usual self and truthfully, Jon did not feel like his usual self. He was constantly frightened and any mention of Jaime Lannister angered him like nothing else could. He knew he was falling apart and he was barely able to collect and hold those pieces of himself together.

No one could hold him together like Daenerys could, even himself. She did it effortlessly, she did it by simply existing. She lifted him up, higher than he could ever fly on Rhaegal, with every loving look and every beautiful smile. Those months he had spent with her, after she woke, was the happiest he had ever been, ever remember being, and he knew now, they were a gift. Jon could hardly remember life without her, before her.

_How had he been so strong? How had he lived then?_

But the Jon Snow before Daenerys was dead. He had bled to death in the snow after his own brothers betrayed him.

And now, Aegon Targaryen needed his wife. He needed what he had, just two nights ago; his Queen in his arms, warm, beautiful and smiling happily up at him. He had the world in his arms then. In a blink of an eye, it was all gone.

“I should have protected you,” he whispered and hung his head, feeling the tears he hated begin to well up in his eyes, “I deserve this, all this fear,” a tear escaped no matter how hard he tried to keep it in and he watched them fall onto the sheets, “it should have been me,”

“ _No_ ,” a whisper. His head snapped up and his eyes widened. Daenerys’ eyes were open, looking at him tiredly, “silly Jon,” she whispered. He laughed and brought a hand up to cup her cheek gently, “my silly King,” she smiled faintly as she saw his face light up. 

“Aye, very silly,” he smiled, gazing at her, blinking away the tears to clear his vision.

Her eyes grew sad as she saw his tears. She removed her hand from his and he let her, watching, unsure what she intended. She weakly raised her hand to him. Jon smiled when he realised. He took her hand and pressed his cheek into her palm, closing his eyes. The air smelled sweet then, the weight on his shoulders lifted and vanished, the constant ache in his temple faded away. Her thumb gently wiped at the moisture at the corner of his eye and Jon only felt more traitorous tears gather but this time, he knew they were of relief.

“Jon,” he opened his eyes to see her brows furrowed in concern and he realised she had never seen him cry. All the time he had, for her, she had been asleep. He ducked his head then, ashamed and he turned but her hand on his cheek gently guided him back to her, “no,” she whispered, trying to soothe the shame.

He wiped at his tears quickly and shifted to sit closer, placing his hand on the bed across her, as he leaned over her, “how are you feeling?”

She looked up at him, “tired,” she made to shift her body but was apparently unsuccessful and she sank heavily against the bed. He shook his head and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, “what happened?” she asked.

Jon tensed then. _Our baby is dead._ But looking into her wide lilac eyes, he could not bring himself to tell her. He never want her to feel that way; the way he had felt, “what do you remember?” he asked instead.

Daenerys pondered, “the dance ended. I saw you at the table, you smiled at me,” he choked on his next breath but she seemed to not have noticed as she continued, “then I felt pain… then you were there. You told me not to sleep,”

Jon smiled sadly, “were you afraid?”

She shook her head, “why would I be afraid?” _His Queen…always brave, even in the face of death._ Unlike him. Then she whispered, “you were with me, holding me, protecting me,” the edge of her lip curved up and her eyes closed momentarily. Then her brows furrowed, just so, “you never told me what happened.”

He felt a lump form in his throat and he swallowed, “poison, Daenerys,”

She stiffened and the smile melted from her face into horror. Her hand came to her abdomen, almost instinctively, “ _our baby…._ ” Her eyes searched his face, tears filling her eyes. He shook his head, silent; his lips pressed together. Pain flashed across her eyes and she looked up at the canopy. Her jaws were clenched, but he could still see her trembling. Then her face crumbled, just a flash, before she closed her eyes against it. Her face was always a picture of the stoic calm of a Queen.

Jon choked and he could no longer look at her. Her hand was fisted over her abdomen, her knuckles white and her hand trembling, “Daenerys,” he reached for her hand, his larger hand closing over her fist. He took it in his hand and was alarmed as he felt something warm trickle from her hand to his. When he looked, it was a thin trail of deep red blood, “Dany!” he pried at her fingers from where her nails dug deep into her palm but her hand remained a trembling fist. He paused and looked at her.

Tears were flowing from her open eyes and onto the pillow as she stared blankly at the canopy, her face still a stoic mask. He held her face in his hands, “look at me,” he pleaded but she did not, “Daenerys… I am so sorry… I am. I wish we could have known our baby… she would have been beautiful like her mother. But the baby… our child. Our brave, sweet child. She saved your life-“ her red swollen eyes darted to him, “the Maesters said the poison would have killed you…” _if not for the baby._

She shook her head, her face crumbling and she made to sit up.

“No, Dany. Rest,” he held her shoulders but she was insistent and Jon helped her sit up, knowing struggling with her would only hurt her.

When she sat up, Jon reached for her bloodied fist gently, taking it in his hand, He pried at her fingers again and she let him. He sighed as he saw four deep flesh wound in her palm. He looked at her. She was not looking at him but staring at something faraway, her tears a constant stream.

“Dany…” he stroked her arm, “say something please,” he coaxed. He knew she was keeping it inside again and Jon did not blame her. It did take getting used to, to finally having someone to lean on, as it did for him. But he knew he could help her; as she already did for him, just by waking, “Dany… I’m here and I love you,” he gently lifted her chin, “talk to me… please…”

She looked into his eyes and Jon saw the raw pain in her eyes, unrivalled even by the pain in them when she was poisoned, and his heart wrenched, “I deserve to be dead. I should be,” she whispered evenly.

“No!” he said fiercely, pulling her into his arms, palming her head to his chest. Pressing his lips into her hair, he told her, “if this is how it must be… so be it,” he muttered and he felt her pull away.

He looked down at her to see her eyes wide, searching his in disbelief, “t-this is our child, our baby…Jon?”

Jon felt a calm wash over him and he told her evenly, “there is nothing I would not give to save your life,” he heard her shallow breathing still, “my own and even-“ he hesitated, “even our child’s life, my own flesh and blood,”

Then he was shoved back, surprisingly hard and he teetered, almost falling off the bed but managed to catch himself.

As he turned to look at her, a sharp sting exploded over his cheek and he felt it straight in his heart. He turned to look at her to see a flash of pain cross her eyes but then it was gone, replaced with anger, “what kind of a father would say such a terrible thing?” she whispered.

Jon flinched at her words that could not rang truer to him. Jon reached for her hand, on the bed between them quietly but she winced and withdrew her hand just as his fingers touched her skin.

“Leave,”

He froze. _She would never…_

“Leave!”

Jon stared at her, reaching for her hand again, “Dany, calm down or you’ll hurt yourself-“

“Leave…” she shoved him, hard by his shoulder and he stumbled off the bed and onto his feet, “LEAVE!” he gazed at her a moment longer, as she glared at him, her frame shaking, her small hands in fists by her side. Looking at her once more, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter! Hang in there you guys!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet chapter here!

**_Tyrion_ **

The door opened and the King was looking worse for the wear. The circles under his eyes were darker, if possible. However, the King was ready for court. His clothes were fresh and his hair pulled back neatly. He was wearing his usual courtly garb, full black but for the cape. He has also worn his crown. He was looking listless as he opened the door but when his eyes settled on Tyrion, they were understandably surprised.

Tyrion was rarely ready so early and this day, he was already dressed and had been waiting for the King.

“Lord Tyrion,” the initial surprise ebb from his eyes to be replaced by a lifeless look that made Tyrion uncomfortable.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion bowed. The King’s tone seemed calm enough, calmer than the night before.

The King nodded to him. Then he turned to the Queen’s handmaidens waiting by the door, “see to the Queen’s wounds, on her hand and see that she stays rested this day,” Missandei nodded, “thank you, Missandei,”

Tyrion raised his brows, “wounds?” peering up at the King, “have the Queen woken?”  

The King nodded then he asked, “why have you come? So early this day,” they began walking to the throne room, the King’s entourage close behind.

“I wanted to speak to you, your Grace,” Tyrion started carefully, “before the trial,”

The King stiffened but did not stop walking, “so speak,”

“I know you will be fair and just and honourable, as Lord Eddard Stark had always been. But sometimes, it can be difficult to be so, regarding matters to close to the heart,” Tyrion said, struggling to get the words out of his mouth when he knew how important it would be for those words to be the right one.

“What are you trying to say, Lord Tyrion?” The King stopped and turned to him, visibly exhaling. The King has always had a deep dislike and even lesser patience for games, especially the ones involving words and hidden agendas; politics basically.

“I know Jaime’s…infatuation for the Queen-“

“That’s putting it mildly,” the King muttered.

Tyrion continued, “is extremely inappropriate and disrespectful and I have advised him against it, on multiple occasions,” he paused, “and Jaime has done some terrible, terrible things in the past. Your dislike and distrust for my brother, that many others have, is understandable in that regard. But Jaime has changed and with his affections for the Queen, he would never do such a thing,”

The King stared at him and spoke only a moment later, “that’s for the trial to determine, Lord Hand,” he turned and resumed walking. Tyrion sighed but then the King stopped and with his back to him, he said, “I will not let my personal rage and enmities of the past cloud my judgement in the trial. Or at least I will try. In this trial, we will investigate and come to the truth of the matter. Whether Jaime Lannister is guilty or innocent, we will find out. But I do hope, you will not allow your relationship with your brother to affect _your_ judgment, if and when the evidence should show you that he is indeed guilty,” with that, the King proceeded to the throne room.

Tyrion closed his eyes in defeat. That was all he could hope from the King at this moment. As he entered the court room, the King was already sat upon the throne, his grey eyes staring ahead coldly at nothing in particular and it was as if all the heat had left the throne room. Tyrion felt a shiver run up his spine as he took his seat a step beneath the throne.

The morning was spent addressing anyone who would seek an audience with the King. The King did his duty, listening, counselling and righting wrongs. Many common people who came before the throne this day asked after the Queen and the King had replied politely, accepting any gifts that were presented. But even through the love and concern showered on the Crown this day, the King’s voice was deadened, his eyes remained cold and his body stiff in the throne. His hand clutched the handle of the throne, a hilt of a sword, so firmly that at times Tyrion could see his hand trembling.

Then, it was time to address the last matter that Tyrion had been dreading; the trial. Lords and Ladies of the old houses were beginning to fill the throne room, keen to witness the trial of whom who dared harm the Queen. Amongst them, an alarming number of common people were present in the back as well. The King’s squire then proceeded to bring a chair to the other side of the throne and Willas Tyrell approached the throne.

The Lord of Highgarden had a kind face, as was his reputation. His brown hair, unlike his brother Loras, was cut short and his eyes were an ordinary brown. It was evident that the looks of the family went to his brother, the knight of the flowers, as it did to Jaime.

He bowed to the King wordlessly and when the King nodded, he slowly walked to his seat, leaning heavily on his walking cane to support his crippled leg. When Willas Tyrell was seated, the King ordered, “bring the accused, Arianne Martell,” the Unsullied obeyed.

Soon, they could hear the telling clanking of chains and then Arianne Martell appeared at the door of the throne room. She was dressed in prisoner’s rags, her wrists and ankles chained. Behind and beside her, three Unsullied escorted her. Murmurs rose from the crowd as she entered and walked past them.

“Cunt!” someone shouted from the back and she turned, glaring.

When she reached a chair in the centre, she sat without prompt, staring at the King.

“Arianne of the House Martell,” the King said, “you stand accused of attempted murder of the Queen. How do you plea?”

“I am innocent,” Arianne Martell replied simply, an air of disregard about her tone.

“Lies!”

“Lying whore!”

“Execute her!”

Cries rose from the common people.

“Silence,” the King raised a hand and the people quietened down, “did any of your men act on your behalf?”

Arianne Martell shrugged, “if they did, not on my orders and not to my knowledge,”

The King stared at her and she looked right back at him, her lips curved into a smile. _She is good and she knows it._

The King then turned to Tyrion and they exchanged a nod. The King spoke then, “the crown will call the first witness, Arya of House Stark,”

Arya rose from her seat from the stands and proceeded to stand before the throne. She was wearing a brown leather vest with a navy undercoat, brown pants and black boots. At her hip, she wielded her thin sword and a handsome dagger. She looked like her late father, Lord Eddard Stark.

“Tell us what you saw,” the King said, his tone softening just slightly for his sister but Lady Arya needed none of that.

She straightened, her hands behind her back as she started, “I was at the feast, as was everyone else. The Queen was dancing and then she collapsed. Then I saw Jaime Lannister run from the feast. I thought he could be fleeing from the feast after attempting to murder the Queen, so I went after him. When I found him, he was with Arianne Martell,”

When the King said nothing, Tyrion spoke then, “what were they doing?”

Arya turned to him, her face a picture of calm, “Jaime Lannister had his feet on Arianne Martell and she was flat on her back on the floor. They looked like they fought,” Arya replied.

“Why do you think so?”

“Their weapons were out and on the floor. She was stabbed in the leg with a dagger. Jaime Lannister had a deep cut on his face and another on his shoulder, probably by the whip she wielded,”

Tyrion nodded, “so by your account, what do you think really happened that night?” she would say it looked like Jaime Lannister was giving chase to Arianne Martell who was already fleeing the scene. And while it would make Jaime less suspicious than he already looked, having fled King’s Landing himself, it would further make concrete Tyrion’s suspicion of Arianne Martell.

The King then raised a hand before Arya could reply, “Lady Stark is not in the position to answer that. She is called as a witness to tell us what she saw; not what she thinks,”

Tyrion pursed his lips and straightened then, “your Grace, as a witness, her opinion would be much more accurate than any of ours; the judges. I think we should hear her out, my King,” Tyrion said, nodding respectfully.

The King regarded him for a moment and then he turned to Willas Tyrell; who nodded. The King then turned to Arya and gestured for her to answer the question.

“I do not know what transpired,” Arya said and Tyrion blinked, surprised, “but someone harmed the Queen and they were escaping. A fight broke out and Jaime Lannister turned out the victor of that fight. That is all I know,”

The King nodded stiffly, “and you have something else to add, Lady Stark?”

Arya nodded, “a dagger was retrieved from the cell of Lady Martell,” Arya turned to look at Arianne Martell, “it was coated with poison,”

“The dagger,” the King said, eyes boring into Arianne Martell, “was it your own, Lady Martell?”

Arianne Martell nodded, nonchalant, “yes it is, what of it?”

“Why was it coated in poison and how are you still alive?” the King asked and Tyrion recognised in the King’s tone that it was more for formality sake, he already knew.

“Nowhere is safe for a Martell. We protect ourselves,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, “and only an imbecile would not have the antidote to the poison on their own dagger,”

Tyrion leaned forward then, “so…is it safe to say, it would be a common thing for a Martell to protect oneself with a weapon laced with poison; that is to be in possession of poison and the like?”

Lady Martell’s eyes settled on him and narrowed.

“Answer the question, Lady Martell,” the King said warningly.

“Yes,” she said deliberately. Murmurs rose from the crowd again.

“We have one last question, Lady Stark,” the King gestured to the side and Maester Sam shuffled forward, a black pillow held in both his arms. On the pillow, there was a necklace with a small vial as the pendant; now empty, “have you seen this necklace before?” Arya glanced at it and nodded, “where have you seen it?”

“Jaime Lannister gave it to me after I apprehended him,” Arya replied, “he told me he got it off of Arianne Martell and that it could contain the antidote for the Queen,” murmurs rose from the crowd.

“She did it!”

“Kill her!”

The King raised a hand, “did he say how he came to know it was the antidote for the Queen?” Arya shook her head. The King deliberated her answer before he glanced to both Tyrion and Willas Tyrell. Both of them nodded to the King and the King said, “thank you, Lady Stark,” Arya bowed and returned to her place in the stands.

“Lady Martell,” the King paused, staring at her, “is that your necklace?”

The Lady of Sunspear, now sat lazily in her chair, her elbow propped on the side of the chair, stared at him.

“Need I remind you that if you lie in this trial, before the Crown and the Gods, you will be sentenced to die,” the King stated, “so, answer the question,”

Something flashed across Arianne Martell’s eyes; a mix of anger and fear and she said, “yes,”

“Maester Samwell,” the King turned to the Maester, “you studied the contents of the vial on my orders. What were the contents of this vial?”

“Well, I have tested the vial with the sample of the poison from the Queen and it is the antidote, your Grace,” Sam replied, “the poison laced on the dagger is also one and the same with that in the Queen’s blood,”

“Martell whore! You tried to kill our Queen!”

“Cunt!”

The peasants in the back shouted and began pushing forward, towards Arianne Martell. The Unsullied and the Gold cloaks moved instantly to block the riled up crowd from stepping forward. For a moment, Tyrion feared a riot.

“Silence,” the King called loudly, “this is an official trial and the truth would be determined when we have heard all there is to hear,” the crowd’s shouts died away to a murmur at the King’s words; a King they still loved and respected. The King turned back to Arianne Martell, “Lady Martell, why do you have the antidote to the same poison, and the poison, which was given to the Queen?”

Arianne Martell stared at him, her face stoic and revealing nothing. The throne room fell silent then as every pair of eyes looked to her.

“The Queen has taken the antidote and is recovering so don’t try to deny it,” the King hissed, his voice almost guttural, barely able to concealing the anger he felt.

At hearing of the Queen’s recovery, amongst the crowd, a breath of relief was heard and there were murmurs and smiles all around. It was then Tyrion realised, in her short time as Queen, Daenerys had won them over; with her act of saving them from the Dothraki, all from before was forgotten and with the kindness in the little things she did in the tourney, they absolutely loved her.

“Yes,”

Her whisper cut through the murmurs in the hall and everyone fell silent.

She sat straighter then, “but I only provided the poison,”

“What poison is it that you speak of?” Willas Tyrell asked evenly.

“Something like the Long Farewell, if you have heard,” Arianne Martell said, “but I did some of my own modifications,” she smiled, evidently proud.

“What kind of modifications?” Tyrion frowned, asking cautiously; not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“The kind that would bring unimaginable pain to the victim, the kind that delays death just for that pain to sink in...”

Beside him, Tyrion was acutely aware of the King’s hand clutching the throne, his knuckles white and his hand shaking. For a moment, Tyrion thought the King might cut himself, as Aerys Targaryen did, multiple times on this very throne, “are you confessing?” the King’s voice was low, dangerous, “that you attempted to assassinate the Queen?”

A smirk twisted her full lips then and Tyrion felt his gut turn, “I give what was asked. I did not do it. I couldn’t,” she said, “she was too well guarded,”

The King then said, “Lady Arya has witnessed that you, Arianne Martell met with the Queen in private the night before the feast and you could have poisoned her then, is that fact incorrect?”

Arianne Martell glared at the King, “I could have but smart as the Queen is, how could I have poisoned her? She even rejected all the refreshments I provided, clean as they are,” she said, “but someone could… someone she trusted. Someone who was also present in said private meeting, present at the feast with the Queen, and not here now,” her eyes looked meaningfully at the King. The King was seething with rage at this point, his body tensed and his jaw clenched, “released I heard,”

Willas Tyrell followed her gaze to the King and Tyrion before Lord Tyrell asked, “who are you accusing?”

Arianne Martell raised her brows as she hissed the name slowly, “Jaime Lannister,”

 _Lies! Jaime would never do that. The King couldn’t possibly believe her-_ Tyrion glanced to the King to see his eyes set forward, his face stern and his eyes darker than usual. _He does. What could she possibly gain from this, from framing Jaime and admitting herself as an accomplice?_

“Arianne Martell, you have hereby confessed to have been a part of the attempt on the Queen’s life,” the King stood, “and have murdered the unborn princess,” the crowd, noble and common people alike, gasped in horror. Arianne Martell’s eyes snapped up, evidently surprised then fearful, “by your claim, you have not committed murder by your own hand but you are an accomplice who failed to step forward upon knowledge of such crime; murder,” the King’s eyes wavered just a little as he said. Arianne Martell’s eyes were wide in disbelief, “I, Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of My Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die,”

The King then nodded to his squire and the boy ran to fetch his sword. Tyrion rose from his chair and approached the King then, “your Grace, we should discuss the punishment and reconsider-“

“Lord Tyrion, Lady Martell has confessed to her crime and the sentence have been given,” the King glared at him and made to step down from the Iron Throne.

In his haste, Tyrion turned his back to the crowd and discreetly placed a hand on the King’s arm. He lowered his voice then, sure no one else would hear amidst the noise from the crowd, “my King, this would start a war with the Dornish but there is another way, a way we can get Dorne to bend the knee without a war-” the King’s eyes flashed dangerously as he glanced sharply to where Tyrion held him. Slowly, Tyrion released him, swallowing a lump in his throat. The King glared at him then, the fire in his eyes not unlike the one Tyrion saw in Daenerys’ and Jaehaerys’.

 _The blood of the dragon indeed._ Tyrion stepped to the side.

Without a word, the King stepped down from the throne. Tyrion closed his eyes before he turned to face the throne room. Faces in the crowd were of varying horror and some eager, for justice to be served. The Stark men step forward and removed Arianne Martell from the chair and forcing her to her knees before a block. All the while, she tried to shove them off, struggling.

Then the King stopped beside her and she looked up at him, “you’ll regret this, Jon Snow,” she hissed and gasps rose as she dared address the King by his bastard name but the King barely blinked. He wore the name like armour and he wore it better than Tyrion could ever hope to have worn his own. Jon Snow truly turned out to be something else. Arianne Martell then spat at his feet, “you’ll bring death to your family once I am dead. The Martells will not be the only one to rise against you then,”

The King stared at her, unaffected by her empty threats, her last futile attempts to save herself, “why did you do it?” he asked suddenly and they knew he was not speaking of the threat she was making.

She paused. Then a smirk spread over her face, “for you,” she said in a sultry voice. The King glowered but she was not fazed, “you wanted me but you had to refuse me because it was not honourable; you said you already have a Queen. So I thought, I could change that state of affair,”

The King scowled before he turned from her then and his hand closed over the hilt of his sword, the squire holding the scabbard. With a fluid, almost graceful motion, the King drew the sword; the melodious sound rang through the silent throne room.  Arianne Martell flinched as the Valyrian steel blade emerged, catching the light beautifully. Tyrion had never seen her flinch but in the face of death, even the bravest, the mad, would cower. _And_ _nothing cut like Valyrian steel._

“Any last words?” the King said; _always honourable and just_ , even to an enemy he was about to kill.

Arianne Martell turned her head then, her body pressed firmly over the block by the Stark men, “your daughter’s blood is on your hands. Your Queen’s blood is on your hands. My King,” she smirked. Then she turned and looked forward and down, closing her eyes.

The King seethed, rage making his broad frame tremble.

Then with a swift and sure swing of Longclaw, the King beheaded the Lady of Sunspear.

As her head dropped to the floor with a dull thud that echoed in the silent throne room, Tyrion closed his eyes.

_There’s our peace. All 4 years of it._

 

**_Daenerys_ **

“My Queen, would you like to have your supper soon?” Missandei asked.

She was hardly aware of her presence, much less hear her. Her body felt unbearably cold, her head pounded the whole while, her abdomen, where her child once was, felt like a dark endless pit, ready to swallow her whole. But most of all, she felt the sting of her palm. She felt it in her chest.

She had hit him.

In her uncontrollable anger and disbelief that he would say such a thing, Daenerys had struck him and she felt it on her own skin and in her heart as if she was the one who had been struck. It took the breath from her body. He had reached for her regardless but she could not bear the feel of him; not when he had admitted to having thought something she had actually done before and absolutely loathed herself for it, even now.

 _Rhaego. My child… hash Mai nesat, Mai avvos hash me. Avvos!_ (if Mother knew, Mother would never have done it. Never!). She closed her eyes against the pain and willed herself to disappear into the dark pit as it ate her from within.

_A Mother would, should, die for her children. And yet, mine have all died for me; Rhaego, Viserion and now…_

She had drove him away, out of the room before she could do something else she knew she would regret. She had curled back into bed when he left, crying herself to sleep.

And when she woke again, her left palm was dressed in bandages and underneath, she could smell the familiar herbs that her Dothraki handmaidens had put over the abrasions she had had from holding the reins a lifetime ago. Through a small gap in the curtains, she could see that the sun was already high in the sky. She had burrowed herself deeper under the furs then.

She was Queen but she was tired.

She would be weak, just this once, when no one would see or know.

She spent her day lying in bed, her right hand unwittingly stroking her painfully flat abdomen, her womb; which was now, because of her arrogance and for the sake of her, empty.

When Daenerys drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of a beautiful young girl, about Jaehaerys’ age. Daenerys would always be behind the girl, running after her. She marvelled at the girl’s long and thick raven locks. Her locks was braided in a familiar way and it took Daenerys a moment to realise that the girl’s hair looked exactly like hers, except it was dark; like her father’s. The girl would laugh and turned around to look at her often, as if making sure Daenerys was there, giggling. It was then Daenerys could see her cherubic face. Her large round eyes were an alarming shade of lilac, her little nose scrunching up as she squealed with joy. But every time, when Daenerys was about to catch her and hold her in her arms, she would disappear and Daenerys’ arms would close around air.

She would wake then.

As she woke from the second of such dream, this was where Missandei found her. The sky outside was already dark, “your Grace?” Missandei approached softly and knelt beside her bed, before her, “you have to eat…”

Daenerys’ gaze went through her, unseeing. Her body felt empty, void of her heart and even her soul.

She heard Missandei let out a soft sigh as she rose. Daenerys’ hand, over her abdomen, fisted the material of her nightdress.

Her baby. Her sweet princess. She had been inside her, moving as if to tell her mother through the little flutters that she was there. And Daenerys had failed her; she could not protect her. Her brave little princess had protected her instead.

Daenerys never believed in Gods but now, she muttered a silent prayer; that should her baby girl be with any of the Gods above, they would return her to this world and Daenerys would not hesitate to exchange her own life for that of her baby girl’s.

Then she heard the opening of the door of the solar and someone entering.

“Your Grace,” she heard Missandei greet.

Her heart started to pound in her chest and suddenly she was no longer empty. She anticipated the voice and she heard it, “how has the Queen been?” it was familiar and her palm tingled. Behind her eyelids, she could still see the hurt look in his eyes and she could still feel how her heart had felt when she had hit him in a fit of rage.

“The Queen has not eaten anything all day, your Grace,”

A pause. Then a deep sigh.

“Thank you Missandei,” he said. She heard someone leave then and a knock was heard on the door of the sleeping chambers.

 _Go away_. She thought but at the thought of him leaving her, _really_ leaving her, a strange lump formed in her throat, threatening to have her throw up. Her stomach churned and she buried her face deeper into the pillow, sinking under the furs.

She heard the door open then and footsteps approached.

“Daenerys?” his voice was shaky.

She closed her eyes. Shame, guilt, settled deep inside her, engulfing her.

_I’m sorry._

“Dany?” she could hear him approach. Then the bed dipped slowly as he sat beside her, “I know you are awake,” he said but she did not open her eyes. She knew she could not face him now, not when she was not herself; not when she was so easy to anger; not when she could not be the Daenerys he knew and loved. Not when their baby was gone, all for her, all because of her, “my silly Dany,” he whispered.

She tensed at the softness in his voice, her heart wrenching as he echoed her words for him back to her. She had woken to his voice. He had been in pain and she had wanted to comfort him then. As he knew she was in pain now and he was comforting her.

Then she felt the back of his fingers gently touch her cheek, caressing her, “I know you’re hurting,” she felt her tears seep into the pillows, “and I wish I could take all your pain upon myself,” he choked, letting out a shaky breath, “but you hide yourself away, so well, and I can do nothing but watch you suffer and it kills me,” his hand left her face then, “talk to me, Dany. Tell me how much it hurts, show me; hit me if you have to. Just don’t hide yourself away, please,”

She schooled her face into a calm serene mask. Her face remained mostly nestled in the pillow, her eyes closed, tears falling from them into the pillow. An ache settled deep in her chest at his words and her eyes burned with the longing to see his face but she could not bring herself to look at him.

She had failed him. She had lost their child.

Her sweet Jon had said he would rather she lived than their child if he must choose, if he could, but she knew he hurt as well. Jon loved their child; she could see in his eyes and hear it in his voice as he whispered sweet nothings to the swell of her abdomen when he thought she was asleep. Losing this child brought Jon to tears. She had never seen him cry like that. _Never._

He loved their child and she had hit him in a fit of anger and told him he was an unfit father.

_I’m sorry…it is I…the terrible mother and wife._

“Daenerys,” she felt him gently press his forehead to her temple, his nose nuzzling her cheek, “I love you so please don’t tell me to leave. I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he whispered before he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips, “and I would never want to,” she could feel the roughness of his beard against her face; a feeling she was extremely fond of. It provided a hint of warmth in her freezing body. But suddenly he was gone and she was cold again.

But it was not a moment pass before she felt the bed dip behind her and the furs lifted just slightly. Then she felt him, warm, behind her. He was not a large man but she herself was petite. When his body curled around hers, she fitted snugly against him, her back flushed against his chest. They matched.

Then she felt his scarred right hand on her bare shoulder under the furs. She felt a strange sort of calm as an assurance filled her at the feel of the familiar roughness of his hand on her skin; the roughness that had explored every inch of her skin before, setting her nerves alight with affection and desire in its wake. Now, it trailed a gentle path down her arm. She felt his body tense against hers as his larger hand came upon her fisted one, over her abdomen. Hesitantly, his hand caressed the back of hers.

He brushed away her hair and nestled his face against the back of her neck, pressing a feather light kiss to her skin, “I’m here, Daenerys,” he closed his hand around her fist gently and pressed himself closer to her. He was so close she could feel his even breath on her skin, his warmth and she even thought she could feel his strong heart beating in his chest. Her body, tensed and racked with tension and pain since the night before when she had heard of what had happened to her child, slowly began to relax against his. He was warm and strong. Then, she felt safe, “I have always been here and I will always be here, with you,”

_Good. Stay…stay with me, Jon._

Her King slept beside her that night, and Daenerys realised, for the first time, she was no longer alone; like she had been with Drogo or Daario sleeping beside her.

She had not realised before but she has not felt alone for a while now, not since Jon Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the comments and kudos from last chapter! I have read them all and will reply them when I have the time; I thought you guys would prefer an update than my replies :) 
> 
> Just a note on what Jon said last chapter: he wasn't in his right mind and yes, while a husband would never say something like that to his wife after they have lost a child, Dany had said she would rather be dead. So Jon just honestly told her what he thought of that (which is he rather the child be dead than her). 
> 
> Sorry for the all the pain you guys! Hope this chapter soothed it; a least a little!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY SMUT WARNING... Don't read if you don't like smut or don't need any therapy from the angst of the past few chapters!

**_Jon_ **

It has been three days and Daenerys had not spoken since the night she had struck him. She had also barely looked at him, despite his constant presence about her, which she quietly allowed; to his immense relief. He could not imagine what he would have done if Daenerys had denied him the rights to even see her. She allowed him to touch her, to kiss her and to hold her as they slept but she did not reciprocate.

In a way, seeing Daenerys’ vacant, lifeless, gaze broke his heart and left him empty as well. But he supposed he should be thankful that in this state, she rested more than she would have, as Grand Maester Julian strongly encouraged. Although it did not kill her, the poison had weakened her and she had lost a great deal of blood as she lost their child.

Three days ago, when Jon had returned, he panicked to see Jaehaerys’ entourage outside their chambers. He had imagined how Daenerys would push Jaehaerys away, or worse, ignore him as she did to Jon. Jaehaerys was only so young, he would not understand why his mother behaved as such and it would wound Jaehaerys.

But as Jon entered the chambers, in a state of panic, he let out the breath he was holding. Daenerys was in bed and Jaehaerys was curled up beside her, his face nestled close to her chest and her nose in his hair. Jaehaerys was evidently sound asleep, taking his afternoon nap in his mother’s arms. Daenerys’ eyes flew open as he opened the door and she glanced over to see him before her eyes avoided him and fixed forward, gazing vacantly at the wall.

Relief flooded him then to see Daenerys had not rejected her son. _How could she when she love him so? A mother’s love for her child._ Just as she loved their unborn child who she was never going to hold in her arms, like she could with Jaehaerys now. Then it was no surprise to Jon that Daenerys would keep Jaehaerys close. She had lost a child, she could not lose another.

Since that day, Jaehaerys came to Daenerys for his afternoon naps in between his lessons with the Maesters and Aggo, as he did in those four years she had slept. When he asked Jaehaerys if Daenerys had spoken, Jon was both relieved and hurt to hear that she did; even though minimally. Jaehaerys had been especially excited when he told Jon that Daenerys had even smiled at him today. At that, Jon was ashamed to feel a bitter taste fill his mouth; hurt and jealous of his own son.

Jon sighed, hoping against hope that Daenerys’ mood would be lifted this night. She had been asleep when he had left her side this morning, pressing a soft kiss to her hair but she had not stir.

“Your Grace!”

He spun on his heel to see Sam approaching, “Sam,” Jon nodded.

Sam smiled as he approached but Sam’s smile faded as he came closer and saw Jon’s face. Jon had not seen Sam since the trial, “are you alright, your Grace?”

Jon nodded, “just tired,” he knew he looked terrible, particularly the dark circles around his eyes that he had gotten from staying up to gaze at Daenerys’ peaceful face as she slept. He worried for her and his thoughts kept sleep far from him. She had gone and put up walls to keep him out again and Jon could not break them down or find a way in for the life of him. Truthfully, Daenerys was now a shadow of who she once was and Jon missed his wife dearly but he would give her as much time as she needed to heal her body and her heart, “is something the matter?”

Sam nodded, “I have been studying what Lady Arya brought to me,” _the sword, the poison and the antidote._ Sam’s eyes darted about as he said, “may we speak in my chambers, your Grace?”

Jon nodded and they proceeded. There had been no sightings of Jaime Lannister from the men he had sent out to look from him. Even Varys said his little birds have been quiet on that regard and with every passing day, Jon felt frustration and rage build in him at the mention or even the thought of that man.

As Sam entered his chambers, Jon gestured to the Kingsguards and entered without them, “so what is it?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he removed his collar, “you might want to sit down, Jon,”

Jon shook his head and Sam sighed. He probably knew now there was no way Jon would sit, “just tell me,” Jon said impatiently.

“Well,” Sam sat, “I have been in the lab the past 3 days,” _so that was where he went_.

“And?” Jon asked as Sam hesitated.

“I don’t think Jaime Lannister could have done it,” Sam blurted, looking straight at him and Jon saw that Sam had no doubt about it, although his wavering voice suggested otherwise.

Jon stared at him, feeling his shoulders tensed as his hands fisted instinctively at his side.

“I know how you feel about him, Jon, and you think he did it but the evidence suggests that he did not-“

“And what evidence suggests this?” Jon asked, taking a deep breath through his nose to calm himself.

“Well, for one, Jaime Lannister could not possibly have poisoned the Queen by touching her on the lips with traces of it on his glove,” Sam said, “this poison is not to be used this way. For it to… kill someone,” Jon felt a lump form in his throat and his stomach turn at the mention of his little princess, “it would have to be directly ingested. The amount Jaime Lannister could smear on her lips incidentally would not have an effect like that,” Jon stiffened at Sam’s suggestion, as if Sam had already made up his mind that Jaime Lannister was innocent, “and-“

“He could have spiked her food when he came to our table,” Jon said stiffly, interrupting.

Sam frowned, “did the Queen eat or drink anything after he came to the table?” Jon kept quiet. They both knew she did not. He had invited her to dance, leaving no time for her to eat or drink since he seek an audience with her at the high table, “Jon,” his eyes turned to Sam, “I know you want to think it is him-“

“No, I do not but the evidence do point to him and Arianne Martell has confessed as much,” Jon snapped, turning away.

“Can we believe what she has said? We don’t know what she wants, Jon,” Sam said.

_Your daughter’s blood is on your hands, my King. Is it truly?_

Jon closed his eyes. But he knew Sam was right. They should not believe everything Arianne Martell had said but Jon could not even begin to speculate how she would benefit from this by framing Jaime Lannister like that. _What reason would she have to lie?_

“You may not trust him, Jon,” Sam paused before adding, “and rightfully so. But Jaime Lannister is _loyal_ to the Queen. If he wanted to harm her, he would have done it while she lay vulnerable for four years. Instead, he had protected her,” Jon felt his fist tightened at his side for he knew Sam was right; Jon hardly remembered seeing Jaime Lannister absent from his guard duty outside her door. And Jon knew something Sam did not; Jaime Lannister loved Daenerys. Jon could see it in his eyes as he looked at her, as he had asked her to dance, his hand holding hers so gently as if afraid she might break. And Jaime Lannister himself had admitted it.

“So who did it?” Jon growled out, turning to Sam. Arianne Martell did not come anywhere near the table. He saw red as he imagined how she could have slipped the poison onto the food to be served to the high table; how he had left Daenerys and Jaehaerys vulnerable to that the whole time. But Jon knew she would not do so, for how would she know which plate would have been served to the Queen?

 _Unless that night…_ when Daenerys went to Arianne Martell herself, against Jon’s wishes, and accompanied by Jaime Lannister. _The Queen ate something Arianne Martell provided in her chambers when we went to her. Arianne Martell herself ate it so she thought it safe._ Jaime Lannister had told him but how much was the words of an Oathbreaker worth?

Sam shrugged, “that is for us to find out… now that Arianne Martell is dead,”

“What of her men?” Jon asked.

“She only brought 3 to the capital and 1 of them is nowhere to be found. The other two has been killed while resisting capture,” Sam replied.

Jon closed his eyes, sighing as he felt the last of his anger ebb away as overwhelming fatigue washed over him. He sank into the seat Sam had previously offered.

“Is everything alright, Jon?” he felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

Jon opened his eyes and looked at his friend, “Daenerys has been… not herself these past few days,” Jon massaged his temple, “she’s grieving over our child,” Jon felt the familiar ache in his chest.

“As you are,” Sam pointed out.

“Aye,” Jon said, “but she would not talk to me,” he looked at his friend, “and she could be angry at me but she doesn’t look angry. She won’t even look at me and I don’t know why,”

“Maybe she just needs some time to herself?” Sam said, “imagine how she must be feeling, Jon. She must have felt like it was her fault. That she failed your child, failed to protect her,”  

Jon jumped to his feet, “I would never blame her for it!” he said angrily. Sam was speaking madness.

“I never said you did,” Sam raised his brows, “but it makes sense. She was the one carrying the child. Whatever she choose to eat, it…caused the death of the Princess,”

Jon paused and then he froze, “and I told her our child had died so she could live; that I would do nothing to change it and even choose it if I had a choice,” he was trying to tell her how glad he was that she was alive, how he did not blame her in the least. But he did not realise that to her ears, he had told her their child was gone _because_ of her. He was so busy telling her how relieved he had felt she was alive that he had forgotten how she would feel.

Jon’s heart wrenched at the thought of how Daenerys must have felt and must be feeling. _I claim to love her and I do not know her heart._

 _I deserve to be struck_. Jon realised.

At first, when she had struck him, through the shock, it had hurt him in his core. But Jon felt it could not compare to how she must have felt. Jon knew he would never forgive himself if their child had died for him, because of him. He could never live with himself.

He stood, “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he muttered, almost incoherently as he struggled to even orientate himself to the door.

“It would be alright, Jon,” Sam stood.

He paused at the door and turned, forcing a smile, “thank you, Sam,” then he left.  

Jon could hear the Kingsguards struggling to keep up with him but Jon could not care less for his own safety. He could kill whoever would stop him from going to her now, much less if someone would try to assassinate him at this time.

He came to their chambers to see that Jaehaerys’ guards were not at the door; there was only Jorah and Qhono. Jon opened the door and entered without hesitation, intending to knock only at the door of their private chambers, where he expected her to be.

He blinked in surprise.

At the table, Daenerys sat, in front of her half eaten supper. Beside her, Missandei bowed, greeting him but Jon barely heard her. Daenerys had turned to him as he had entered but then her eyes had dropped to the floor before they could meet his. She was in the solar, out of bed for the first time, since he had placed her on it after the feast.

As he let out a breath of relief, he approached her quickly and went on his knees before her, taking her hand from her lap and in his, “Dany, are you feeling better already, to be out of bed?” he asked softly, searching her face. Her eyes were the usual breath-taking shade of lilac but they were downcast, not looking at him. A light pink colour had returned to her cheeks. He smiled slightly as he noticed the signs of her recovery but it did not reach his eyes; it couldn’t, not until he saw her smile. He turned to Missandei.

“Was she hungry?”

Missandei shook her head, “the Prince insisted she leave her bed to eat her supper. He had just left, your Grace,” Jon smiled, amused at Jaehaerys’ antics; it sure took a dragon to move another. And Jaehaerys was a true dragon, not just in name and blood; he had the fire in him to prove it, as his mother did.

“Thank you Missandei, you may leave to rest. I will attend to the Queen,” Jon said and Missandei bowed, taking her leave. He waited until the door closed behind her before he turned back to look at Daenerys. He yearned for those beautiful eyes to look at him; to spare him even a glance now, “Daenerys,” he started, squeezing her hand, “I’m so sorry,” Daenerys did not look at him but her lips pressed together, barely noticeable if he had not been watching her closely, “I’m sorry I do not know your heart; that I did not understand how you must be feeling,” her hand tensed under his, “that I did not comfort you when you needed it the most and I have said the most horrible things to you,” he felt a lump form in his throat and he swallowed, continuing, “it is not your fault, Daenerys,”

Her jaw tensed and her lilac eyes began to fill with tears but her face remained, impassive.

“Our child...she loves you and I know no one loves her like you do. She knows it too,” Jon said thickly, his chest aching at the mention of their daughter, “blaming yourself won’t bring her back, Dany. I wish we could have known her. I would give everything I have to have a chance to hold her,”

Daenerys let out a shaky breath, her body beginning to tremble. Her lips were now pressed firmly together, her eyes staring vacantly at the floor.

“But I know I can’t anymore and no matter how hard we willed it, she won’t ever come back to life, Dany. Even if you tortured yourself like this. Even if you tortured us,” Jon said thickly, his own eyes filling with tears. _He would know. He had done so, for Robb’s death, for Ygritte’s death, for Rickon’s death_ , “Daenerys, please, this… this is not your fault,”

A tear escaped her eye and trailed down her cheek. Then suddenly, she pulled her hand from his and stood, making to walk away; no doubt to hide her tears from him, hide herself. Jon shot to his feet, reaching to stop her. But before he could, she paused and teetered unsteadily.

“Dany!” she fell back and he stepped forward, his arms around her, firmly holding her to him, “you shouldn’t be walking yet,” he muttered, peering to see her face paling. Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed as she struggled to rid herself of the light headedness, “I’ll bring you back to bed,” he said and when she did not make to object, he slipped his other arm under her leg and lifted her into his arms.

As he glanced to her, he paused at the close proximity of their faces. He gazed down at her, enamoured. Then she opened her eyes and for the first time in a while, their eyes met.

Jon exhaled unwittingly as his mind blanked of everything that had constantly occupied it for the past few days. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and absurdly, his stomach twisted nervously. But at the same time, he felt as if a weight has been lifted from his tired body. Every muscle in him relaxed only to tense again in sweet desire for her. He swallowed to ease his dry mouth but to no avail.

A jolt of fear ran through him as the candlelight reflected in her eyes flickered, as if hinting at her intention to look away; to hide herself again. Dreading that the moment may end, he croaked, his voice a rasp whisper, “Daenerys,” her eyes stayed on his then as if they were compelled to; unable to look away. He thought he saw a flash of panic in them but they were gone before he could delve further.

This was his wife. He thought. _My, now, broken wife._ He knew then he had fallen in love with her again; even as she lay pale, sickly and dishevelled in his arms. If there was any doubt in his mind before, he realised at that moment he would always love her. Even if she would not speak another word to him ever again; even if she was to remain distant from him, as she was now, for the rest of their lives together; even if she were to go mad or even if she was- dead, he would always love her. He would always yearn for her, as he did since first met her on Dragonstone, as he did now.

He opened his mouth then. He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know everything he felt and thought in that moment but his mind fell short of coming up with the words. He did not know how to tell her exactly how he felt; there were simply no words for it.  

He startled, blinking in surprise, as he felt her hand settle, hesitantly, on his cheek. Her eyes watching where her hand touched him. A pained look came to her eyes then. No words were said but Jon knew, she was taking his pain away; the pain she had caused him. Not just on his skin, where she had hit him, but from his heart, where the slap had reached.

With a slight and barely noticeable shake of her head, her eyes, fixed on his cheek where her thumb brushed over, filled with unshed tears; raw pain that had been his. He leaned into her warm touch and as he took a breath then, the air was sweet.

He leaned closer and pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes never leaving hers.

A shiver that ran through her petite frame in his arms then made him suddenly aware of how he still stood in the solar; and her in his arms wearing nothing but a cotton nightdress that did little against the draughty winds from the open window.

Quietly, he proceeded into the sleeping chambers. Her bed was made and the sheets fresh. Jon placed her gently on the bed before pulling aside the furs and covering it over her. As he came to sit by her side, the furs pulled up to her chin, he realised her eyes were still on him. Jon felt his own lips curve into a small smile at her and he brushed aside her silver locks from her cheek.

Just as he made to speak, she whispered, “ _I’m sorry_ ,”

Jon froze, in surprise, then immense joy to hear her; his joy only dampened when he realised what she had said. He furrowed his brows and leaned closer to her, his hand gently brushing her hair back from her forehead, “you have nothing to be sorry for,” he told her firmly, his eyes holding hers with intense conviction, “but _I_ am sorry, for saying those things to you; the last thing you needed to know or hear at that moment,”

She shook her head slowly. Her eyes darted between his before they dropped from his altogether and Jon felt a jolt of panic go through him that she might hide from him again. She said, so softly he could barely hear her, “I have everything to be sorry for, to you… everything that has happened-“

“No!” he said, harsher than he had intended but he needed her to know, “none of it is your fault.”

_Your daughter’s blood is on your hands. Your wife’s blood is on your hands._

Her eyes darted shiftily, unconvinced but before she could say anymore, he said, “none of it, Daenerys!” he held her face gently, “you mustn’t think it. I forbid it!” he said firmly.

And she blinked, in astonishment.

Then Jon realised that it would probably be the first time she had been spoken to like this, the first time in a long time. Who would dare order a Queen? He cursed inwardly and parted his lips to apologise, to take back his harsh words; the words he should not have said again-

A smile, one so precious to Jon, graced her lips and he paused, “if that is what my King commands,” she replied quietly, muted amusement evident in her tone.

Jon flushed as at her tease. He had not realised he had spoken as a King would. He had only been reacting. Trying to rid himself of the heat in his cheek, he schooled his face into a solemn expression, “I hadn’t meant-“

She shook her head dismissively, the small smile still on her lips, and he could see no offense was taken.

As she looked at him, her smile faded, Jon felt the intense need to see that smile again. She needed to take her mind off it. So he said, “if only I had known sooner,”

“What?” a frown of confusion.

“That if I were to be King, you would stop being so stubborn; I would never even have considered to be King Consort,” he muttered, unsmiling but his eyes twinkled.

Jon felt a thrill of success run through him as the edge of her lips twitched but she pursed her lips at him instead, “ _When_ have I been stubborn, my King?”  

He felt his face heat up again as she addressed him as such but he resolved to ignore it and raised a meaningful brow at her. He was enjoying their easy banter; that she was looking at him and even speaking with him again.

Daenerys’ lilac eyes dropped from his momentarily, a hint of admittance before her chin jutted in indignation, “I would not have to be so if you had bent the knee as soon as I asked,” the cool collected voice of a Queen seeping into her tone. Jon chuckled, realising where Jaehaerys had gotten that look and tone about him when he had argued with his wet nurse; whether it was about going to bed, or for another serving of lemon cake.

At her indignant stare, he quelled his amusement with a small shake of his head, just enough to speak, “Jaehaerys has that look. And your stubbornness,” he could not wipe the smile from his face.

She huffed and Jon felt his heart stutter as she reached up and took his face in her gentle hands, “or yours,”

He chuckled, “or mine,” he gazed at her lovingly, nuzzling his cheek against her hand.

With an awed look in her eyes, she told him then, “how can you love me? After how I could not even bring myself to look at you or say a word to you,” a pained look crossed her face, “you deserve so much more than what happened... I could not be a wife to you all those years; I could not e-even keep our child-“ she choked over her words then, her face crumbling as she sobbed. He placed his hand over hers frantically, opening his mouth to speak but she continued, “I did not even have the strength to comfort you when you needed me and I-I have hurt y-you,” then through her tears, she looked at him, “you deserve s-so much more than me,”

“No,” Jon paled, absolutely appalled. He had thought it was always him who was never enough for her; almost a goddess amongst men, “how can you even think that?” he took both her hands from his face and into his hands, “Daenerys. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Do you know how much hope you gave me just by existing?,”

He could still see the imposing throne room and he could feel the stutter of his heart as he laid eyes on the Queen on the throne. Her ethereal beauty took his breath away and all the harsh words of warning he prepared for her since he left Winterfell died on the back of his dry mouth.

“I told you about how I hadn’t felt like myself after I was brought back; I felt so empty for a time I thought I would not love again but, the very first time I saw you, you gave me hope that I could still love, that death hasn’t taken that away from me. I was raised a bastard and then a man of the Night’s Watch, I would never dare dream of having a wife, a son or a family to call my own and you gave it all to me. You gave me everything I have,” he clutched at her hands and brought them to his lips, “the strength, the courage, to live, to fight, to love every single day. I feel _alive_ because of you,”

Daenerys stared at him, stunned. Then her lips parted and she whispered, “and I you,” her eyes were honest; open and Jon was floored to see that she had truly meant it. She had thought he knew how she felt for him just as he had thought she knew how he felt for her.

Their eyes locked in sheer disbelief of what they have learnt. Then Jon felt happiness beyond measure, a contentment, begin to fill him and he smiled at her as she slowly begin to, at him.

“You’re going to be alright, Daenerys,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, glimpsing her eyes close, “we will be alright,” and he had been telling himself this but with her, now, Jon truly believed it.

As he made to straighten, he felt her arm snake around the back of his neck and Daenerys pulled him down to her. Eager, Jon allowed her but held his own desires at bay; he would not push her into something she was not yet ready for. She pressed her lips to his, kissing him insistently and with a sort of desperation that melted any apprehension he had, “Jon,” she whimpered against his lips, keeping his lips firmly against hers.

Gradually, assured that she wanted his touch, his hand came up to caress her arm which was around his neck. His hand trailed down to her shoulder and he cupped her cheek gently, his tongue darting out to lick her across her lips. She groaned and he felt her hand over his. She guided his hand from her face and onto her breast.

Jon then felt his pants begin to tighten uncomfortably, “Dany,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, reluctantly breaking the kiss, “we can’t, you-“

Daenerys muted his words with her lips; unbearably soft, warm and sweet, tantalising him. Jon felt his hand unwittingly began to gently caress her soft breast. She moaned and he felt her nipple harden in his palm, “I want you, Jon, I need you,”

“You’re not well yet,” he shook his head, nuzzling her nose with his. But she tugged open his royal tunic, exposing the expanse of his chest. His objection died in his throat as her warm soft hands explored his body; her left flat on his back and her right over on his chest. She tugged on his arm and Jon went, on the bed and over her.

For a moment, they merely gazed at the other. Her lilac eyes had a familiar fire in them and Jon could not look away. Suddenly, she pushed him over, into the bed beside her and he found himself on his back.

Jon could hear her short breaths as she rose from the bed. Her warm hands pushed his tunic away from his body and Jon extracted his arms from them. He gazed at her through hooded eyes as she explored his torso with her hands in an intense, almost desperate, desire. _She’s beautiful._ His eyes dropped to her lips unwittingly and Jon reached to pull her to him. But she dipped her head without warning and Jon felt those very lips on his scar; the one over his heart. She was painfully gentle. He gazed down at her to find her eyes looking to him.

“Dany…” he whispered. Her lips lingered on said scar before she proceeded, kissing his numerous scars, her soft hands caressing the side of his torso. As he watched and felt her kiss him lovingly, the shame and sadness he felt for his scars dissipate into love and happiness. He felt her lips linger on a particularly large ugly one over his hip; the one that had not healed properly and was infected.

Then he felt her hand settle abruptly over the bulge of his breeches, gently stroking him. He sucked in a breath as her fingers began to untie his pants deftly. Her eyes darted to his for a quick moment before they dropped to the work at hand. His breathing became shallow and he had to remind himself to breathe as she pulled open his pants, drawing him into her palm.

“Daenerys-” he groaned loudly as she dipped her head and kissed him on the tip, “no-“ he hissed his objection; unwilling to allow her to do such a thing for him and at the same time, afraid of what he would do, what his desire for her would drive him to do if she continued her ministration. At the thought that he could hurt her in a heat of the moment, he tensed, his hands fisting the sheets at his side. Daenerys ignored his half-hearted objections and he felt her envelope him. It was warm, wet and incredibly soft. Jon moaned, throwing his head back into the pillows, “Daenerys,” his body coiled, tensed, and he could no longer breathe.

Daenerys hummed as she heard him, her mouth and hands working his member slowly, deliberately. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to touch her. He did not trust himself to, not when he felt like this; giddy with desire, his head blank of any thought. His fists tightened, shaking, as he felt her tongue tease him, running along the base of the length of him before worrying the tip.

As she took him in her mouth again, moving rhythmically, her eyes were fixed on him, one hand under his bum and another caressing his hip. He caught her eye and he froze under her intense gaze, thick with love and lust.

But Daenerys did not give him time to delve into her gaze as she swallowed the length of him, sending tremors through his tensed body. His eyes squeezed shut and he threw his head back. _Gods._ In that moment, Jon realised then she was the one who had power over him and not the other way around, as he had foolishly thought. With her attentive, deliberate, ministration, it was not long before he felt the familiar fire in his lower abdomen and his body shuddered in preamble of his impending release.

“Dany,” he gasped and reached to pull her to him but she deftly finished him before he could. He moaned his release, “ _Daenerys_ ,”

When his body sank back into bed amidst the sheets, coherent thoughts was slow to return to his mind. He gazed to her, catching her release him from the warm confines of her mouth. She licked the length of him one last time and he let out a shuddering breath, sure he would be hard again if she continued. Her eyes darted to his at his exhalation.

“Come here,” Jon said, his voice incredibly hoarse. Daenerys smirked and he cleared his throat, his face burning. _This incredible woman_. She has provided him pleasure like no one else had. No one else would for a bastard, not even Ygritte who claimed he owned her as she owned him when it was in fact, only the latter. And now, instead of feeling degraded that she had pleasured him this way, Jon could see a calm sensual confidence in her eyes.

 _She knows exactly what she does to me._ Jon groaned internally.

He opened his arm to her, an invitation, and Daenerys slowly scooted up to him. She lay down against his side then, her head on his shoulder, her hand flat on his chest, almost possesive.

He smiled at her, leaning down to kiss her and she pressed her lips to his eagerly. He grunted as he tasted himself. She giggled, nipping his lower lip between hers playfully as she pulled away, “did you like that?” she whispered, “you seemed tensed,”

Jon opened his eyes and blinked. He gazed at her to see her looking up at him solemnly. He laughed nervously, feeling his face heating up, before he admitted, “of course I did…I’m just…not used to it,”

Daenerys laughed, nuzzling his jaw with her nose, her arm tightening around his chest, hugging him to her as she pressed herself into his side.

Jon smiled and hugged her tightly to him, his fingers caressing her back.

_Daenerys Targaryen, the most beautiful woman who ever lived. More than half if not all of the men in this world wanted her and I am the one she chose, the one who gets to fall asleep next to her, who gets to hold her, now and for the rest of our lives._

“Thank you Dany,” he blurted, his voice hoarse. She looked up at him, her brows furrowed in puzzlement, “for you; for all of you,” _even if you are hurt and broken._ Jon gazed at her gently. He watched, his heart wrenching, as her bright lilac eyes welled up with tears but her lips curved into a small smile. As she ducked her head and nuzzled her face into his chest, Jon felt all the weight and hurt from the past few days fade away. When sleep tugged at him, Jon held Daenerys tighter to him and let himself go, allowing himself to finally rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little unsure of the timing/content (heaviness) of the smut and fluff but I guess…Jon and Daenerys, you guys (and I) deserve it after all of that! 
> 
> And well … a little something before things really blow up. Hang onto something guys, we’re in our last stretch!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Hope all of you are buckled in tight. With this chapter, the last stretch of the story begins, so...expect angst and struggle.

**_Jon_ **

He woke to the feeling of an almost unbearable heat on his cheek, almost scalding. He opened his eyes and shifted away. Blinking away sleep, he looked to see Daenerys beside him. Her small petite frame was pressed tightly to his. Her face was nestled close to his neck, her even breaths caressing his now heated skin. Before he had shifted, he has had his cheek nuzzled against her forehead. Jon had gotten used to her unusual warmth and it had never been uncomfortable for him, until now.

Jon frowned, gently removing his arm from around her and placing the back of his hand on her forehead, aghast to feel that she was burning. Placing his hand on her cheek and the nape of her neck, the heat was equally searing, “Dany,” he cupped her cheek and said. She stirred and opened her eyes lazily, “how do you feel?” he whispered.

She did not attempt to blink away sleep, furrow her brows and crinkle her nose as she usually does as she woke, all while she would stretch herself. Instead, she merely gazed at him through half closed lids. She was breathing through her parted lips and her cheeks were flushed pink, “Jon,” she mumbled, “are you well?” her voice was barely audible, “your hands are so cold,”  

He shook his head but doubt she saw it as her eyes fluttered close, “you’re burning,” he told her.

Daenerys made a mild noise of acknowledgement, “I don’t feel very good, Jon,”

“I’ll get the Grand Maester,” he told her and she nodded, a slow drawn out nod and he bolted out of bed. He ignored his boots and went straight to the solar barefooted and opened the door. 3 guards were stationed outside. They turned to him as the door opened, “summon the Grand Maester,” he told them, “with haste,”

“Yes, your Grace,” one of them replied and took off.

“Have him enter once he arrives,” he said to the others and turned back into the chambers. On the large bed, Daenerys was exactly as he left her. He went under the furs on his side of the bed and gently snaked an arm under her neck, “Dany, sit with me,” he coaxed as she frowned, feeling his probably too cold hand under her neck. In truth, he was afraid she would sleep and he would not be able to wake her; a seemingly constant fear of his now, every time she did not feel well, “come on, Daenerys,” he whispered beseechingly, “sit with me,”

She moaned softly but complied. Jon slowly shifted himself behind her and leaned forward. He snaked his arms around her waist and took both her hands in his, nuzzling his cheek to hers. Her skin burned against his and Jon frowned, worried. _What if it is the poison? What if they were all wrong and the baby was not enough? What if she is sick because of what I allowed last night? God please no…_ As if sensing his wandering thoughts, she mumbled, “Jon…” effectively pulling him from a dark place in his mind.

“Dany, don’t sleep now. The Grand Maester is on his way,” he told her and she nodded, her eyelids heavy but her eyes were open, looking at nothing in particular. Jon watched her intently, not daring to look away or blink. Every time her eyes threatened to close, he would squeeze her hand and hold her tighter, relieved when her eyes would open again. _I have to talk to her._ Then a memory came to him, “Daenerys, when you delivered Jaehaerys, I held you as I do now,” he told her.

Her brows raised just slightly as she heard. She slowly turned her head, nestling her face against his cheek, “did you?” she smiled weakly at him.

He smiled, “aye,” he turned and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, searing against his, “I had thought- no I prayed, that our child leaving your body would wake you,” he told her, “do you remember it at all?”

A frown marred her lips and she shook her head, “no,” then a sigh escaped her, “I wish I did,”

Jon nuzzled his nose to hers, “maybe it is better this way,” he whispered, “even while you slept, your body was in so much pain. But I remember Daenerys. And I will, till my last breath. How the Maester had pulled Jaehaerys from you, how beautiful he’d looked, how loud he had cried; as if he wanted to tell the people himself that he was born,” she smiled sleepily, “you held him first,” surprise, as much as she could manage, crossed her face, “I made sure. And your face was the first Jaehaerys saw when he opened his eyes-”

A loud knock echoed.

“Enter,” Jon called, relieved, and the door opened.

The Grand Maester hobbled in and bowed low, “My King, my Queen,” he greeted.

“Approach,” Jon said, “the Queen does not feel well,” The Grand Maester came to the bedside and looked at the Queen for permission. She nodded once and the Grand Maester pulled back his sleeve and touched her forehead lightly with the back of his fingers. Sucking in a breath, the Grand Maester drew his hand back, seemingly calm, but Jon saw shock flint momentarily across his face. Jon watched his face closely, worry threatening to choke him, as the Grand Maester examined the Queen.

“Your Grace, are there are other discomforts?” The Grand Maester asked, looking at Daenerys.

She replied quietly, “I feel tired and weak,” her brows furrowing as she tried to shift her arm. The Grand Maester nodded and felt her arm.

Then the Grand Maester stepped back and looked at him, his face a professional mask he wore. Jon said, “tell me,”

“It’s hard to say but the fever could be the Queen’s body purging the poison or recovering from the miscarriage,” Jon felt Daenerys tense in his arms at the mention of their child and he gently caressed her arm with his scarred right hand; she had told him she liked how his scarred hand felt on her skin. In response, he felt her hand seek out and grasp his, “It might be good to let it run its course for now if this heat protects her from any remnants of poison. I can give the Queen something for the fever on the morrow if this heat does not abate,”

Jon glimpsed Daenerys shaking her head, the edge of her lips curved. And Jon felt muted amusement at the irony of the worry of the Grand Maester that fire might hurt the Queen; the unburnt, but both of them kept quiet.

“Thank you, Grand Maester,” Daenerys forced a smile and he bowed, leaving with promise to return with the medicine on the morrow for when she woke. When he left, Daenerys gazed at him with tired but mirth-filled eyes.

“Don’t be too confident, this is a different kind of fire,” he said.

“Fire is fire,” Daenerys replied simply, the usual steel behind her voice gone, her voice soft. He smiled and helped her to lay back on the bed and told her to rest, glimpsing darkness outside.

* * *

As he placed the crown atop his head, he nodded to his squires and they left. Then Jon proceeded to the sleeping chambers where he had left Daenerys, still sleeping. And when he entered, he saw that she was indeed still asleep but she had shifted while he was gone, now laying on her side with half her face pressed into his pillow. He smiled, leaning over her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. He let his lips linger on her sweet skin before he reluctantly drew back. Then he placed a hand lightly on her forehead to feel that she was still extremely warm.

He straightened and left the chambers. Missandei was standing in the solar, watching as he left.

“Your Grace,” she greeted.

“Has the Grand Maester came with the medicine?” he asked her. She nodded with a questioning and concerned look on her face, “the Queen has a fever. Give that medicine to her when she wakes,”

“Yes, your Grace,” Missandei nodded, “Lord Tyrion awaits you, your Grace,”

“Thank you Missandei,” he turned to the door and paused, “send word directly to me, immediately, if anything changes with Daenerys,”

Missandei smiled and nodded. Then Jon opened the door and left. As Missandei had said, Tyrion stood outside, pacing. He stopped and turned to him when Jon emerged, “your Grace,” he greeted and Jon nodded in greeting as well.

“What’s happened now?” Jon asked, sighing. Tyrion being in such a state was never good news.

“Where is the Queen?” Tyrion asked instead, glancing behind him.

Jon shook his head, “she fell ill last night and she is resting,” 

Tyrion raised a brow, “resting?”

“As she should be,” Jon said warningly.

Tyrion raised both hands, “As she should be,” he concurred, “I am merely surprised she would want to rest and miss a small council meeting, her first as Queen,” Jon stayed silent and Tyrion asked, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the next, “you did not see the need to inform her?”

Jon shook his head, sighing deeply, “I know she would never stay to rest if she knew there is to be a small council meeting and at this moment, she needs rest,”

“She would not appreciate it,” Tyrion warned.

“I would rather she hate me and be well,” Jon said and with that, Tyrion sighed, and they both walked to the Great Hall, behind which, the small council would hold their meeting. This would be the first small council meeting Jon attended since Daenerys woke and if Daenerys were to be here, her first small council meeting. But this monumental event was not to be if she was not well enough to attend.

 

**_Tyrion_ **

_If the Queen finds out, this would not end well._

The small council members were already there and Tyrion caught Varys’ eye. The spider had come to him this morning, the moment he heard from his little birds, bearing worrying news. The members rose around the table as the King approached.

“There is no need, my Lords,” Jon waved dismissively as he took his seat and sat, the members sitting.

Then the Master of Coin, Ser Steffon Swyft, stood and bowed to the King, speaking, “most of the Lords and Ladies of the Noble Houses have taken their leave, as are the smallfolk who came to attend the Queen’s Tourney,” Tyrion worried his thumbnail against the arm of the chair as he listened. Ser Swyft have been charged with the details of the Queen’s Tourney, including keeping their guests comfortable and handling the finances for this Tourney, Tyrion only interfering with important guests; like the Dornish.

“How fares the royal treasury?” the King asked. He had always been concerned with the practicalities, unlike all the other Kings before him, and Tyrion as well and the members of the small council greatly appreciated it. They had never had to beg the King’s attention to such matters that were matters of import but often too small in the eyes of the reigning monarch.

“The royal treasury remains well stocked, your Grace,” Ser Swyft replied with a nervous smile as a ghost of a smile crossed the King’s brooding visage, “many houses gifted the Queen with gold and expensive gifts. It helped greatly with the costs of this tourney,”

“Thank you, Ser Swyft,” the King nodded and he took his seat. Then the King turned to Grey Worm, who had been at first temporarily, Master of Law but Grey Worm learnt quickly and grown into his role of managing the dungeons and the safety of the city and the Crown, proving himself a well-deserved Master of Law. However, with his unfamiliarity of the laws of Westeros in the beginning, Tyrion had assisted with the administration of justice and passing of laws, “Grey Worm-“

“My King, if I may speak before the Master of Law? I have matters of great importance to report,” Varys spoke and stood, bowing respectfully. The King paused before he eventually nodded and gestured for him to speak, “I have received word from my little birds that Dorne is preparing for war for the murder of Arianne Martell,”

The King’s face darkened but Tyrion could see that it did not come unexpected to him, as it should not. The King glowered, “Arianne Martell was sentenced to die for her act of high treason against the Crown. Her sentence was fair and just for the nature of her offence,”

“I’m afraid fairness and justice meant little to the people of Dorne. The people went mad with rage when they saw her body as it was sent back to Sunspear as you commanded, your Grace,” Varys said. The King had ordered the men to have Arianne Martell’s body sent back to Sunspear, where she could be laid to rest beside her ancestors, in her home.

It was a kindness and a generosity that not many can claim to have, especially for someone who plotted to murder one’s wife. For the King, it was less about kindness and more about honour; there was none in disrespecting the dead by keeping their bodies away from their families. But Tyrion had to admit, it was hard to see the kindness or fairness when their ruling Princess was abruptly dispatched by the King, to whom they have no allegiance to.

The King glared, “who leads the Dornish army?”

“Trystane Sand,” Varys replied, “a bastard by Arianne Martell,”

The King frowned, “he’ll be but just a boy,”

“Seven ten, My King. The first child Arianne Martell bore,” Varys replied, “just a boy but not to be underestimated. My little birds sing of his prowess as a warrior and with woman. Not unlike his grand uncle, Oberyn Martell. Word also has it that Arianne Martell has groomed him to be the Prince of Dorne after her,”

The King closed his eyes and turned away, glaring to the side. His hands gripped the arms of the chair firmly.

“He truly means for war,” the King muttered, half a question and half a statement. Tyrion knew of the King’s reluctance for violence and it had served them well the past four years; the King doing everything he can to keep the peace. But peace never seems to last.

Tyrion knew there was no way the King would allow Arianne Martell to live after she had confessed to what she had done; apart from the understandable hatred and thirst for vengeance the King would have, it was a fair sentence. But something in the look of horror on her face told Tyrion, smart and cunning as she may be, she had not expected to die; especially not at the hands of the King. Apparently, she had not known the King as well as she thought she did; mistaking his preference for peace and distaste for violence as weakness when it was his greatest strength as King, _second only to his honour and fairness perhaps_. Regardless, the King had made his decision and this was the consequence.

“Grey Worm, prepare four thousand Unsullied and five thousand soldiers,” the King said, “if the Dornish army intends to march on King’s Landing, I will not allow the fight to come to us and happen here,” _not with my family so close_.

“Your Grace, do you mean to-“ Tyrion paused, sitting up.

“We will take Dorne,” the King replied, his piercing grey eyes looking straight at him. Tyrion made to reply, to further their plans of war. But the door to the meeting chambers opened abruptly and the King’s eyes flitted behind Tyrion to see who it is. By the way the King’s eyes lit up and his brows furrowed in worry, Tyrion did not need to turn to see who had arrived.

Tyrion stood from the chair as the rest of the small council did just that. Tyrion turned to see the Queen walking in without her entourage. She was wearing a red and black Westerosi dress, befitting of a Westerosi Queen, instead of her Meereeneese dresses. Tyrion had not seen her since she has been poisoned. She looked to have lost significant weight from her petite frame but that did little to diminish her ethereal beauty and regal presence. There was also some colour in her cheeks. Her face was as impassive as it always was but Tyrion saw a hint of anger in the way she looked at the King. Her lilac eyes hardened as they settled on him.

The King rose and approached her, “my Queen,”

“You did not inform me there is to be a small council meeting,” Daenerys said icily to the King, her jaw set, “your Grace,” she nodded in greeting and Tyrion could hear the anger lurking in her tone as she addressed him.

The King’s eyes closed momentarily before he replied gently, “you have yet to recover, you need to rest-“

“ _I_ will decide _when_ I need rest,” the Queen told him, her voice even and composed, her eyes darkening. Then she turned from him and proceeded to the table where the small council members bowed to her, “my Lords,” she greeted in kind and they straightened. The Queen, without hesitation, proceeded to the only empty seat, at the opposite end of the table, beside Grey Worm. Tyrion thought of offering his seat but knew the Queen would never take it, it was the seat of the Hand. This unconventional rule of having two ruling monarchs was proving to be trickier than Tyrion had thought; specifically with the minor details.

As the Queen stood at her seat, they all looked at the King who had yet to move from where the Queen had turned from him. Then the King turned and went to his seat, his eyes fixed on the table. As both the King and Queen took their seats, the small council sat, the members looking between them as a pregnant silence blanketed the chambers.

The Queen spoke, “forgive the interruption, proceed,”

Tyrion shifted in his seat, glancing to the King to see him looking at the Queen with no intention of speaking. So Tyrion said, “so, Grey Worm will prepare the men and when will they depart?” he turned to the King.

The King’s gaze remained on the Queen as he said, “As soon as they are ready. I will bring Rhaegal with me,” Something in the King’s tone spelled that his words were mostly meant for the Queen’s ears.

“Depart for what?” the Queen demanded, looking at Tyrion then at Varys. Tyrion bit back his flinch at the Queen’s stark ignorance; her state of disconnectedness from the very Kingdoms she ruled. _Which was as much fault of hers as it was the King’s_ …

Varys said, “Dorne is preparing to declare war on the Crown for the execution of Arianne Martell, as sentenced by the King,”

The Queen’s ashen face was telling and she turned to glare at the King, “ _when_ was Arianne Martell executed?”

Tyrion closed his eyes momentarily, readying himself for the impending eruption that he knew would ensue, if it has not already, within the Queen’s belly.

“Shortly after the feast,” Varys hesitated but eventually replied when the King had merely looked at the Queen, again making no indication of his intention to reply her.

“For what crime?” the Queen’s eyes remained on the King’s, her voice wavering just slightly as she asked. The tension between the monarchs was so thick that Tyrion glimpsed Ser Swyft and Lord Merryweather shift uncomfortably in their seats and Grey Worm’s eyes darted between the two monarchs before he looked down. Tyrion did not blame them.

Varys glanced at the King and then at Tyrion. Before he turned to the Queen, opening his mouth to reply but then the King spoke quietly, “high treason. Attempted regicide,” the Queen was almost visibly shaking at this point, of fury or otherwise, Tyrion could not tell. But she remained seated and composed herself regally as the King continued, “she confessed in a short trial,”

Silence fell over the chambers again, the King and Queen looking at the other but neither speaking. Then the Queen said quietly, almost a hiss, “on what rights do you sentence her to die?”

The King’s gaze, previously harbouring a softness, now turned cold, “I presided the trial, as King,” he stated, his brows furrowed as his authority was questioned.

“And _your Grace_ did not see fit to discuss this decision with his Queen, a ruling equal?”  

Tyrion shifted, “your Graces, perhaps you would like to convene this discussion in private-“

“Yes-”

“No,” the Queen said and Tyrion did not miss the glare the King shot her, “you’ll stay. You will all stay and give your counsel,” the Queen’s eyes landed on the King again, expectant of a reply.

“No,” the King replied hotly, almost a snarl, “I did not think it would be necessary. She has committed high treason and the only just punishment is death,”

“Which manner of death?”

All heat seemed to have escaped the room then, the meaning behind the Queen’s question obvious for everyone at the table. The King’s jaw tensed, his teeth clenched, “beheading, as is the way of Westeros in executing Noblemen and women,” the King said sharply.

The Queen’s glare was piercing as she hissed, “she deserved to burn,” her voice wavered just so.

The King closed his eyes and took a breath, “you know I would never allow it,” the King told her quietly.

She seethed then, “you did not have the right to rob me of the chance to look into the eyes of the person who had murdered our child,”

The King regarded her calmly for a moment before he dropped his gaze then, “there is no point in speaking of this. Arianne Martell is dead,”

The Queen glared at him, the lilac of her eyes darkening, “and how did Dorne come to hear of her death?”

Silence. Tyrion said, “we sent her body back to the Dorne, for a proper burial-“ he flinched as the Queen glowered at him.

“On my orders,” the King said, his eyes still downcast.

The Queen tensed visibly and shot to her feet, “ _leave_ , all of you,” she hissed. Tyrion rose from his seat, as did the rest of the small council; all hastily complied. The King looked up then, his face unreadable as he looked at the Queen but there was a melancholy about him; something that Tyrion had not seen about the King since the Queen woke. Tyrion glanced to the Queen, her clasped hands trembling before her. Then he turned and left, in step with the small council members. There was silence even as Tyrion closed the door behind him.

****

**_Daenerys_ **

“Mercy,”

He tensed as she spoke, her voice cutting into the tensed silence.

“You showed mercy to the woman who murdered our child,” she hated the way her voice wavered at every mention of their little girl. She stared at the table instead of at him, who sat quietly at the opposite end of the table, “ _how could you_?” she asked, her voice quiet. Her body ached and she knew it had nothing to do with the fever that plagued her. It was a familiar sort of ache in her chest, the kind of feeling she wished she did not know so well; the feeling of being betrayed.

“She’s dead and justice has been done,” he replied evenly.

His calm disposition angered her and his words filled her with a rage that threatened to consume her whole, “she deserved to burn!” the voice that screamed did not sound like hers, echoing through the meeting chamber.

He did not flinch, as he never did from her rage. He closed his eyes momentarily, “Dany…” her heart stuttered at the way he softly said her name, coaxing, pulling her from her rage but this time, she did not want to be pulled from it. She let the fire in her rise, consuming the stutter of her heart and steadying her hands.

She hissed, “ _Dorne will burn_ ,”  

“No!” he rose and she realised she was on her feet as well. She did not remember standing from her chair. She glared at him and he took a breath as if to calm himself before speaking in a measured, controlled voice, “Dany, we will not be burning anyone-“

“If you have any love for our daughter, you will make them pay for what they did with their _blood_ ,” she seethed.

His face paled and he looked down, “ _Daenerys_ … I love our daughter, not any less than you do,” he gazed at her, his grey eyes pained and she felt her heart twinge, almost regretting what she had said, _almost_ , “she is mine- my own flesh, my blood as much as yours. But…destroying Dorne, killing innocents, won’t bring her back. That is vengeance, not justice, Dany,”

Her eyes bore into his; the fire consuming and allowing her to ignore the way her name rolled off his lips, again and again, what would normally stop her. Instead, she snarled, “it would feel like justice. A blood debt can only be paid with blood,”

“It has been paid,” he sighed, “Arianne Martell is dead,”

“It’s not enough,” Daenerys snapped, willing him to understand; _how could the life of Arianne Martell measure up to our daughter’s life; our precious little girl’s life?_  Then she glared at him, her body growing hot, almost uncomfortably so, “you kept it from me,” her hands fisted at her side.

“Like you haven’t kept things from me,” Jon retorted angrily, frustrated. Daenerys tensed but Jon did not notice as he continued in an almost snarl, “how you went to Arianne Martell in the night, even when I advised against it and you promised me you would not, with _Jaime Lannister_ -“

 _The night I sentenced my own daughter to death, with my arrogance and ignorance_. Daenerys stared at him, feeling tears sting her eyes. She hated herself at that moment for her weakness, almost as much as she hated herself for her mistake; one that costed her daughter her life. Something in Jon’s eyes flickered as he caught a glimpse of her eyes dampening. He stopped himself mid-sentence, regret already evident on his face.

He closed his eyes then, as if letting a calm settle over him before he said, “I did not tell you because you were indisposed at that time,“

“Not for long,” she shot back thickly. Tears stung her eyes but the fire in her did not let them well up, much less fall. _There is no time or space for weakness now._

He sighed, “Dany-“

Hearing her name from his lips, once again, made her pause and it wavered her resolve so she spat, “don’t call me that!”

He continued as if she had not interrupted, “-I was going to tell you,”

“ _When?_ ” she seethed, “after I have rested enough, your Grace?”

He winced at how she addressed him and Daenerys felt an ugly feeling of triumph fill her.

“I will burn Dorne to the ground,” she told him. She then turned from him and proceeded to the door. She could hear him following her. Then felt his hand around her arm, his grip firm.

“No,” he said, pulling her to a halt easily, “I can’t let you do that,”

“If we are going to war-“

“You are not,” he said, “I am,”

An instinctive fear gripped her heart at the thought of him leaving her; at the possibility of losing him. This feeling was just as it had been years before, when he announced he would be venturing beyond the Wall.

But anger, like fire, flooded into her; that he would think he could impose this on her, that he could control her, that he could stop her. She shoved him with her free hand, yanking her arm fiercely out of his grip, “you can’t stop me,” she hissed and turned from him.

But before she could take another step, his arms were around her, strong and unyielding even as she struggled, “Dany… let me protect Jaehaerys, let me protect you,” he whispered fiercely into her ear as she reached to pry his arms from around her.

“No,” she growled. But as always, her efforts were futile. He was physically a lot stronger than she was.

“Daenerys, please,” he said thickly. With her name uttered like that, in the deep northern voice that she loved, wrapped in love and now, pain, finally, it made her stop. His arms remained tight around her shoulders but not hurting her, never hurting her, “let _me_ bring Dorne into the fold, as I should have done four years ago.”

She stood quietly, listening.

“Dany,” he pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek and the last of her rage went out, like a candle against the wind, “if you need someone to blame for the loss of our child, don’t blame yourself and don’t blame the innocents of Dorne…” he paused, hesitating, “it is my mistake, Daenerys. If I had done something about Dorne four years ago, Arianne Martell would not harm our child; she would have attended the Tourney as our vassal. And… she would not have tried to kill you, for me,”

The blood turned to ice in her veins. She stepped away from him and he let her. When she turned to look at him, his eyes were resigned, sad, “what did you say?” she whispered and she found herself wishing, praying, she had misheard or that what he said was not true. _It cannot be._

“Arianne Martell… she tried to kill you so she could marry me. She offered for me to take her as my second Queen in exchange for Dorne’s allegiance. I refused her. Then she asked to be paramour, you knew that, but when I refused her again, she did warn me but I did not listen; I did not think it meant anything for I did not care what she would do to me,” he replied, his grey eyes filling with unshed tears, “but she knew where I would hurt the most…” his grey eyes softened, “where she could wound me just enough so I would break,” a tear escaped his eye and trailed a path into his beard, “she tried to hurt you…she killed our daughter because of me,”

“No…” her heart sank, “that is not true. You’re only guessing-“

“She told me, Daenerys,” Jon said, his normally strong voice wavering, “she told me before she was executed,”

“No….” she mumbled, pleading with him to tell her that it was a lie, that Arianne Martell had lied to him or that he was lying to her now. But she knew in her heart Jon, her Jon, would not lie to her. _It cannot be true. Jon would never let anything happen to me, to our children; especially not for the sake of him. Not Jon, not my Jon._

“I am sorry,” he said, the last words she wanted to hear. They were the words that cemented the truth; that their daughter had died because of him. He reached for her with his right hand and she did not move, her skin yearning for the feel of his scarred hand on her. She needed him now, more than ever. But as the tips of his fingers touched her cheek, his touch was cold; like ice. And it felt as if it burned her, it stung. She hissed, flinching away from him and he winced, withdrawing his hand quickly. He opened his mouth but when she saw, she realised she could not stand to hear another word from him; not another word of confession or apology or even love.

So she turned from him before he could speak. Without a word to him and unable to bear looking at him any longer, she willed herself forward, one foot in front of the other. He did not stop her this time, with his touch or his voice. A part of her wished he did. She opened the door and walked from the meeting chambers and into the throne room. The small council members, who had been waiting, turned when she approached.

Daenerys did not look at them as she walked past them; her back straight, chin up, face blank, her hands clasped tightly before her. She glimpsed Tyrion looking like he wanted to speak as she walked past but eventually decided against it and she was thankful. She did not trust herself to speak now. She was mildly aware of her guards falling in step behind her as she left the throne room, Missandei close at her side, just a step behind her.

She walked, passing handmaidens and page boys who greeted her, and she did not stop till she came to her chambers. She opened the door and the guards turned their backs to it, not entering. Missandei entered with her and stood behind her. She stopped in the middle of the solar, unable to walk any further. Her feet was heavy, like lead weighing her down.

Her body felt empty but for her heart, which felt as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped half of it from her, leaving the rest of it just enough for her to stay alive and feel the sheer agony as it bled.

“Your Grace?” Missandei’s small voice came from behind her, “can I bring you anything?”

_My daughter. I want her. My sweet girl, my first girl._

Missandei paused, “do you want to be alone, your Grace? I can leave-“

“Don’t go. Stay,” her voice was strangely hollow, “stay with me,” _don’t leave me alone._

 _And Jon._ _My Jon. I want him._

 _But he does not want you._ Another distant, cold voice sneered. _He is leaving you, for Dorne, for the sun and you cannot follow him, he does not want you to follow him. You saw it in your dream as well. He does not want you._

Then Missandei came before her, “I am here, your Grace,” she felt herself nod but she was not looking at Missandei, she was looking down, at her own feet. No matter how hard she tried to push it down, a sob rose and tore from her throat and out her pressed lips. She felt a pair of hands on her shoulder, guiding her forward. Powerless to resist, she allowed the pull. Her cheek fell against Missandei’s shoulder. She half expected it to be cold and burn her as Jon’s touch did but she felt nothing.

Daenerys could hear her own sobs as she cried, her frame trembling terribly with every sob that racked her body. It tore a fiery agonizing path from her heart, ripping her open. 


	31. Chapter 31

**_Jon_ **

The Unsullied and soldiers were ready.

Jon stood still, staring out the window as his squires fastened the straps of his armour. When they were done, they stepped back and bowed. Jon mumbled his thanks and told them to ready their horses and join the soldiers. As they left, Jon took his gloves from the table and made to leave. But then the door burst open.

“What are you thinking?” Arya stalked in and snarled at him; uncannily resembling a she-wolf baring her fangs.

He blinked, “what?”

“You’re going off to war?” Arya demanded, “alone?”

Jon raised his brows, “my men are ready and I am bringing Rhaegal-“

“You know what I mean,” Arya snapped. He did. _Daenerys_. She was not going; Jon would make sure. And after the argument they had, Jon was not sure if she wanted to anymore.

He averted her eyes and kept silent. Then he looked up, “I have to, Arya, we’ll talk when I return-“ he shuffled past her.

“Don’t you dare take another step, Jon Snow!” Arya spun around and stood before him again, between him and the door, his escape. He stared at her, stunned. It has been a while since someone had spoken to him this way; after all, he was the King, for four years with no family nearby. No one spoke to a King this way, “what kind of man does not have the time for his family before a war? Time for his _wife_ …”

“I’m going to her now, Arya,” Jon sighed, annoyed.

Arya blinked, pausing, “and what will you say to her?” Arya asked then, her voice softening just slightly. He kept quiet, not knowing the answer to that, “I heard there was an argument?”

Jon nodded, a stiff barely noticeable nod.

“What about?” Arya frowned.

“She was angry I did not burn Arianne Martell alive,” Jon replied, “and that I kept it from her; that Arianne Martell was the one who did it. She said I did not give her the chance to sentence her. And…” he hesitated, “I told her Arianne Martell poisoned her for me… Daenerys was…understandably upset,”

Arya raised a brow, “how do you know that?”

Jon looked at her then, “Arianne Martell told me. And she warned me before,”

Arya rolled eyes, “she told you? Jon, what she says cannot be trusted,” she took a step closer to him, “for all you know, she told you that to make you feel guilty, to make Daenerys get upset at you for it! You two will be divided, it could be a ploy, Jon, and if Dany does not go with you to this war, this ploy is working!”

Jon closed his eyes. He suddenly felt so tired, “I don’t care, Arya… I’m tired of ploys and scheming-”

“Whatever you feel right now, make it right…don’t leave like this, Jon,” she sighed.

He shook his head, “I am leaving today. I don’t have a choice,” he told her and stepped around her. She did not move to stop him now.

“We all have a choice, Jon,” she said quietly and he paused with his hand on the door.

“It is my duty,” he told her before he left the chancery. His feet brought him to the royal chambers. Outside the door, stood one Queensguard; Jorah Mormont.

Jon came to the closed door. Taking a breath, he raised his knuckles to the door. But then he paused, his fist frozen over the door, short of knocking.

He closed his eyes and sighed, his courage leaving him with the air that left his lungs. He opened his fist and placed his hand quietly on the door. He closed his eyes, feeling like the coward he had always felt he was. Everyone, even Daenerys, thought him brave. But Jon felt it was a lie. Every time he clutched Longclaw for a battle, he had to tighten his grip so his men could not see his hand tremble. He has always been afraid but he has had, and was able, to cover it up; behind the exterior of a ‘Lord Commander’ and now, ‘King’.

But with Daenerys, he felt there was nothing he could hide behind. He was the King and Daenerys never regarded him any less than that. But Jon knew in his heart, to both him and her, he would always be her lover first; her husband. And as her husband now, his heart was open for her. His eyes, skin and every fibre of his being yearned for her. At the same time, he was terrified; to see her cry, to have to leave even if he went to her now and they argued again.

_Daenerys, I am leaving. Would you want to know? Would you want to see me? Would you care?_

The door felt stingingly cold under his palm, which longed for the feel of something warmer; much warmer. Even with his eyes closed now, Jon could still see the look of disbelief and then pain in her beautiful eyes as he had touched her.

_Are you still angry with me? I know I should have told you everything. I should have trusted you to be strong enough; to know the truth, to look into the eyes of our daughter’s murderer. You are strong and I know that. But do you know how important you are to me; how precious you are? Every time I look at you, I want to protect you, from everything; from people and even from yourself._

He had not seen her properly since that day in the small council meeting chambers. Missandei had told him that Daenerys had cried after leaving and she slept fitfully that night. Jon had stayed away, telling himself he did not want his presence to rile her up any further and risk her health. But in truth, Jon did not have the courage to see her. He was afraid to see even a glimpse of resentment in her eyes. He was ashamed to be the reason Arianne Martell harmed her; he felt guilty. So instead, he had sought Missandei out and asked after Daenerys every morning, before the sun came up.

_I love you, Daenerys._

He let his hand slip from the door and fall to his side. He turned to Jorah, “take care of the Queen,”  

He met Jorah’s eyes behind the helm. Jorah nodded stiffly, a fierce look in his eyes. Jon glanced at the closed door, swallowing a lump in his throat. Then releasing a shaky breath, he turned and walked down the corridor.

As he approached the stables, he glimpsed Tyrion, standing by his horse, “Lord Tyrion,” Jon greeted evenly as he took the reins of his horse from the stable boy.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion nodded, then he paused, hesitating.

“Say what you will, Lord Tyrion,” Jon said wearily.

“The Queen needs her King by her side,” Tyrion said.

Jon stroked the snout of his horse, turned away from Tyrion. He closed his eyes momentarily, aching at the thought of being away from her. _But this is my duty; and it must be done_. Jon mounted his horse. A man once told him love is the death of duty but Jon knew, both him and Daenerys have beaten the odds before; in the Great War. And they will again.

They will love. And they will do their duty.

“It is always I who have needed the Queen,” Jon replied simply.

Tyrion took a step forward, a deep furrow between his brows, “Both of you need each other. Ice and Fire. One without the other…nothing good will come of it,”

“Daenerys…will be fine without me, as she was before she came to Westeros and met me,” _Before her, I managed without her as well… but that was a different man, a different life._ Jon glanced down at the reins in his hand, “And I intend to come home, Lord Tyrion,” he straightened in his saddle and he realised the words were as much for himself as it was for Tyrion, “and while I am gone, try to keep my home from burning to the ground,” Jon forced a smile to his lips.

Tyrion sighed deeply before he straightened, a resigned look on his face, “so it is true,” Jon frowned, confused, “the King shits and the Hand wipes,”

Jon laughed as he urged his horse forward, “Lord Tyrion,” he nodded to him. Tyrion bowed in farewell and Jon turned from him, spurring his horse into a gallop out of the Red Keep and to the Dragonpit.

“FATHER!”

Jon halted his horse sharply, his blood freezing in his veins. He turned to see his son running towards him. His usually tied-up silver hair was untied, streaming behind him as he ran. The Prince was barefoot and still in his sleepwear.  

Jon dismounted hastily, staggering but he ran. He dropped to his knees heavily, folding Jaehaerys into his arms. Jon had went to Jaehaerys to say his goodbye the night before, after a long day of war council meetings. But Jaehaerys had been asleep, as he had been when Jon went to his chambers again this morning. Reluctant to wake him, Jon had whispered his goodbyes and kissed his hair before he put on his armour.

“Where are you going?” Jaehaerys cried. His little arms were firm around his neck. Jon glanced up to see Arya slowly approaching, Jaehaerys’ wet nurse and guards with her. He glared at her. _The nerve of her, to use my son._ But in a way, Jon was grateful to her as well. Getting to see his son before he left, Jon could not feel surer of his own return.

Jon gently pried Jaehaerys’ arms loose and pulled back. Jon took his little face in his hands. Jaehaerys’ grey eyes were welling with tears. _War_ , “to Dorne, Jaehaerys,”

“Why?” he demanded thickly.

“People are coming to hurt us,” Jon said carefully, “I am going, to keep you safe, to keep your Mother safe. And as King, to keep our country safe,”

Jaehaerys whimpered, chewing on his lips. Jon knew Jaehaerys understood. How could he not when all of what Jon taught him was of honour and duty? As King and as a man.

But it did not mean Jaehaerys would accept it; he never did accept what he did not like, “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered.

“Jae…” Jon sighed and he opened his mouth to refuse his son again, already dreading it before the words were out of his mouth. But Jaehaerys spoke first.

“But…sometimes, what I want is not really what is right or what the realm needs…” Jaehaerys said suddenly, his voice thick but his tone strangely empty as if he was reciting it, “Mother said,” he whimpered and hung his head.

Jon paused. He had not known when Daenerys had told him that.

“Father, you will return, won’t you?” Jaehaerys looked up, his eyes sad but hopeful.

Jon gazed at him softly, “of course I will. This is my home,” he pulled Jaehaerys into his arms, “you and your Mother, wherever you both are; that is where my home is,” he pressed a fierce kiss to the side of his head, “nothing can keep me away. Wait for me, I will come back to you, my little dragon,”

Jaehaerys buried his face into his shoulder and sniffed wetly, “I’m a wolf,” his voice was muffled but the indignation was not.

Jon chuckled, “if you are,” he drew Jaehaerys back to look at him, “with that stubborn temper of yours, you are a wolf that breathes fire,”

Jaehaerys furrowed his brows, “Father, you are being silly. Wolves don’t breathe fire,”

Jon quelled his amusement and said in feign seriousness, “you’re right, Jaehaerys, they don’t,” Jaehaerys looked at him for a moment longer before he looked down and stepped back from him in a rare moment of quiet obedience. _Only a dragon can tame another_. Jon knew not of a truer dragon than Daenerys. Jon smiled sadly as he straightened. He turned to Arya. She was chewing on her bottom lip as she regarded him. Then she lunged forward into his arms just as Jon opened them to her.

He closed his eyes, feeling his sister’s firm embrace, “the lone wolf dies and the pack survives, Jon,” she said, “don’t go alone. Let me go with you at least,”

Jon shook his head as he drew Arya away by her shoulders, “no. You’ll stay here. There is no one I trust more with Daenerys’ and Jaehaerys’ safety than you,”

Arya’s jaw tightened in objection.

“I’ll survive, Arya,” he said, turning to mount his horse, “I may be alone but I am a dragon as I am a wolf,” Arya chuckled before she looked solemnly at him and nodded.

He gazed at Jaehaerys once more; his little cherubic face tensed as he held back his tears. For a moment, with the ache in Jon’s chest, came the thought of staying. _Love is the death of duty._

Jon clutched the reins, willing himself to stay on his horse, “I _will_ return,” Jon stated, resolute as he gazed at his son.

Jaehaerys jutted his chin, trying to be strong and Jon felt pride swell in his chest. Then he turned and left for the dragonpit.  

As he approached, the Unsullied protecting the pit drop to one knee. Jon gestured for them to rise as he dismounted.  The doors of the Dragonpit were wide open, as they seemed to always be these days. Jon closed his eyes. And as he did with Ghost a lifetime ago, Jon reached out for the presence of another.

As he opened his mind, it was like opening an old wound. It was stiff and there was a stinging pain; one of loss. Then he felt another; a warmth, soothing presence on his now gaping wound.

Rhaegal.

It was familiar but at the same time, it was vastly different. With Ghost, Jon could _be_ Ghost. He could feel the snow under his paw, the taste of blood of a prey on his tongue and even the pang of hunger as he smelled a potential prey. Jon had never been one with Rhaegal. The mind of Rhaegal was different. Ghost was a quiet presence while Rhaegal’s mind felt almost as Jon would imagine another person’s would; instinctively closed and guarded. Jon was intrigued but he did not mind it and he would not force it. He had not bonded with Rhaegal as he had with Ghost; not yet.

 _Māzigon_ (come)

Jon knew there was no need to project thoughts in High Valyrian for Rhaegal to understand him but it reminded him of Daenerys; the way she smiled as she watched him frown with the effort to remember the words. The way her eyes twinkled as he repeated her words to her. The way her tongue articulated the words so gracefully and how her sweet voice sounded.

Rhaegal was his to mount and Daenerys had explained to him that she have never nor will she ever mount Rhaegal.

 _A bond between the dragon and its rider is for life; the rider’s life usually._  

_Jon baulked. Daenerys noticed he had stopped walking and turned to him._

_“No,” he told her. A furrow formed between her brows, “I won’t ride Drogon…even if you were to-“ he stopped short, the unimaginable thought choking him, making it hard to breathe._

_Her brows smoothed in realisation and she smiled a small resigned smile, the same one she gave him at the Dragonpit; the first time he had made her smile. He had promised himself then it would be the first of many. She deserved to be smiling, always, “Jon,” she retraced her steps and stood before him, “I could think of no one I would rather ride Drogon if I do not survive-,”_

_“You will,” he whispered fiercely._

_Her lilac eyes held his with a trepidation before they hardened, “we will,” she corrected softly. Jon felt his lips curve and he nodded, “but…Drogon has taken a liking to you. He will take you for a rider if I…”_

_He shook his head, “no…I will not,” he repeated sternly and he knew she would see the stubborn resolute look in his eyes._

_Then a screech was heard overhead and they looked up to see Drogon flying high overhead, with his brother, Rhaegal. A piercing cry filled the air from both the dragons and Jon glanced over to see a pained look cross Daenerys’ face momentarily before it was quickly hidden, “they miss their brother,” she said, gazing at them, her eyes sad and beginning to turn red-rimmed, “a dragon has three heads. And now there are only two,”_

For my mistake. _He thought he could hear her think. Jon summoned his courage and reached for her. He gently pried her clasped hands apart and took one in his. She let him, squeezing his hand as his hold tightened. She tore her eyes from her dragons and looked down at their hands for a moment. Then she looked up and said, “_ Rhaīgal,” _High Valyrian._

_Jon watched as the green dragon broke from his flight and turned to land before them._

_“Come,” she said to him but it was for naught. Their hands remained firmly clasped together with no hint of either’s intention to let go as Daenerys approached the green dragon. This one was evidently smaller than Drogon but no less ferocious. His molten gold eyes settled on Daenerys, quiet as she approached. But when they shifted onto Jon, he snarled, displaying an impressive array of black sword-sized teeth._

_“Shhhh,” Daenerys cooed, “gīda, ñuha riña,”_

_The green dragon quietened but his teeth remained on display and now, slightly ajar. As they approached, Jon could feel the blistering heat from its depth._

_“Go on,” Daenerys let go of his hand and Jon froze, realising that they were standing just in front of Rhaegal. If he were to reach out, he could touch Rhaegal, as he did Drogon. At that thought, Jon removed his glove and did as he did on the cliffs at Dragonstone. But when Jon lifted his hand, rather than remain still like Drogon had, Rhaegal approached slowly, as if stalking a prey. A soft growl in the back of its throat. Jon stilled his breathing then, standing his ground, his hand outstretched._

_Rhaegal came close to his hand, his nostril flaring as the dragon exhaled and Jon could feel a wave of hot air brushing over his hand; a threat to scald him. The growling did not cease but Jon held his ground, looking into a hard bronze eye which remained on him. When Rhaegal was finally still again, Jon took a slow step forward. When his hand touched the green bronze scale, the growling ceased._

_It was not the first time he had touched a dragon. Yet, he marvelled at the way the beautiful jade scales felt rough and smooth at the same time under his palm. It was cold to touch but it warmed Jon in the core to know he was touching a dragon._

_“Courage, you use courage to command a dragon,” he blinked and turned to Daenerys. He had almost forgotten she was there, “if the dragon senses fear, they will not follow you much less let you ride them. They could kill you.”_

_Jon let out a nervous breath, “command?” Daenerys’ eyes were bright, the only indication of her joy. Those eyes flittered to Rhaegal meaningfully and Jon turned to look at Rhaegal. Those hard bronze eyes were now pools of molten gold as they looked at him._

_“Rhaegal is yours,” she said. Jon turned to her, stunned._

Rhaegal was her child. One of the only two she had left. _“I-I would never-“_

_“Yes you would,” Daenerys said evenly, the tone of a Queen, “we will need both dragons in this war and you will ride Rhaegal,” Jon frowned, hesitant, “we will fight the Night King together,”_

_In truth it was a dream. He had grown up on tales of dragons and had always dreamt of being a valiant knight who rode one. But he was only a bastard. Even as a child, Jon understood and had killed that dream, just as he had killed the boy._

_“I can think of no one else,” she tore her gaze from him and onto Rhaegal as she said softly, “who would be worthy of riding my Rhaegal into battle? Who would be brave enough, good enough for him? It would have to be someone I could trust with my child’s life,” her eyes settled onto his as she finished._

_She trusted him. She absolutely did. Jon could see it in the way she looked at him, her eyes open and honest as they rarely were._ Trust in a stranger _. He had asked of her. And she did as he asked; even now. He swallowed and nodded, “I will protect him with my own life,”_

_Daenerys’ lips curved, just barely, “you will have to command him,”_

_Jon frowned then, “you always did so in…”_

_“High Valyrian,” she finished, “I trained them with High Valyrian,” she explained, “and you will learn,” there was a twinkle in her eyes when he nodded solemnly, “_ Dracarys _means dragon fire,” she was coming closer to him, one step at a time as she spoke._

 _Then Daenerys stopped before him, almost chest to chest. She waited expectantly and Jon blinked; his mind sluggish from the feel of her heat he thought he could feel at such proximity. His eyes found her lips and his mind blanked of all thoughts and desires,_ but one _. She raised a brow and Jon’s eyes flittered to her eyes. He moistened his lips and her eyes darted to them, “_ Jacarys,” _he said hesitantly._    

 _Daenerys laughed and he flushed, looking at her reproachfully. But then he stared, enthralled. Her eyes crinkled in her mirth and her cheeks rose and were becoming pink. As her laughter quelled and she became aware of his embarrassment, her hands came up to his waist, her gentle touch soothing the sting of embarrassment, “_ Dracarys…” _she enunciated slowly._

 _Jon frowned. At her encouraging gaze, he said, “_ Dracarys,” _Daenerys smiled, nodding. He then glanced at Rhaegal, panic slightly rising in his throat that the dragon might mistake his words for a command. But the green dragon was now lounged on the snow. He opened one large golden eye lazily before closing it again._ Smart.

 _Looking up at him, her body now pressed against his, only their thick fur lined clothes between them, “_ Sōvēs,” _Daenerys said, “it means fly,”_

 _Jon nodded, “_ Soves?”

 _Daenerys repeated, “_ Sōvēs,”

 _“_ Sōvēs,” _he said, realising the lilt._

 _“_ Olvie sȳz,” _Daenerys smiled sweetly._

 _Jon echoed, “_ Olvie sȳz,”

_She laughed then, “it means very good,” Jon paused, feeling his face begin to heat up. Through his embarrassment, he could not help but chuckle at the sound of her laughter._

Jon’s eyes snapped up as a screech was heard, breaking him from his reverie.

Rhaegal descended and landed before him, graceful.

“Rhaegal,” he greeted the dragon warmly and a soft affectionate screech came from deep within the dragon’s throat. Jon smiled and approached as Rhaegal lowered his head. Jon placed a hand on his snout and pressed his forehead to the spot between the dragon’s nostrils, “we’re going to fight in a war, boy,” he mumbled, “to protect your mother, and your brothers,” Jon withdrew and looked into one molten gold eye. Rhaegal blinked and Jon absolutely believed he understood. Jon smiled and patted Rhaegal heavily on his scales. Jon made to mount Rhaegal.

Then a loud screech sounded above them and Jon paused. Jon looked up to see a large black shadow descending. It was not a friendly screech.

Drogon landed heavily over the dragonpit, towering over Rhaegal. Drogon roared at them deafeningly, his eyes, red like lava, glared fiercely at them.

Jon looked at Drogon quietly, unmoving. 

Then without warning, Drogon descended the dragonpit quickly, approaching them. Jon could feel the ground tremble under his feet with Drogon’s every step. Rhaegal reacted and turned to his brother. Jon ducked as Rhaegal turned, his wing skimming over just over Jon’s hair. He then heard Rhaegal’s own roar but that did little to stop the approaching dragon. The black dragon had little to fear from his smaller brother.

Jon watched as Drogon stopped just before Rhaegal, seething. Fire was rolling behind Drogon’s exposed black teeth. Rhaegal snarled and snapped his jaw fiercely at Drogon.

“Rhaegal,” Jon said sharply, with his words and his mind. _To me._ Rhaegal did not obey immediately as Ghost would have. Rhaegal turned to him, his teeth still bared. His gold eyes were filled with remnants of anger; to protect him from Drogon. _He is your brother_.

Drogon growled, baring his teeth. The fire now dangerously close behind his teeth. Rhaegal turned and snapped fiercely at Drogon warningly before he stepped back, eventually obeying. Jon approached Drogon.

The molten red eyes dropped to him and stayed on him. Jon kept his eyes fixed on Drogon’s, forcing himself to ignore the black flames in his ajar mouth. Drogon could reduce him to cinders with a puff but Jon knew that he would not. _Because Daenerys would not and Drogon knew Daenerys’ heart better than anyone._

Jon looked up softly at the dragon, “are you angry at me as well?” he chuckled bitterly.

Drogon’s growl did not cease and his teeth remained bared. Drogon begin to lower his head to Jon and behind Jon, Rhaegal released a long low growl. _No, Rhaegal._

“It is my duty,” Jon said. He looked into Drogon’s eye, now levelled with him. The fire in his mouth was no longer, “it is better that it is me than your mother,” he gritted his teeth and said angrily, willing the dragon to understand, even if Jon knew there was a chance Drogon could not even understand what he was saying. Regardless, Jon felt he needed to tell him, “I didn’t mean for what happened… to Daenerys, to the baby,” he glanced to Rhaegal, then looked to Drogon again, “to your sister,”

He choked on his next words and Jon paused, glaring at the ground as he swallowed and blinked away tears.

“And that is why I have to go. To put a stop to this,” he growled, “so no one will ever hurt us again,” His voice rose angrily and he placed a palm over the black scales impulsively.

Drogon’s one molten red eye blinked slowly.  

Then off in the distance, a horn sounded. The army was beginning the march.

He glanced in that direction. His heart sinking for the inevitable. Jon’s hand dropped from Drogon, to his side, “I have to go now,” he said quietly and stepped back. Drogon matched his steps back with one forward towards him, closing the gap between them, “go to your mother. Keep her safe for me,” Jon realised then the black dragon was quiet, no longer growling. His eyes of red smouldering pits were liquid, like lava. There was a strange look in his eyes.

Jon turned and went to Rhaegal. The green dragon pushed himself against the ground and Jon climbed up his side. He clasped the spikes before him and glanced over to see Drogon still watching them.

“Protect your mother,” Jon told him.

_Sōvēs._

Rhaegal chirped to his brother, no longer hostile. And with a powerful push off the ground and a flap of his massive wings, Rhaegal rose into the sky. Behind him, Drogon cried out; keening. The sound sent shivers down his spine. Then Drogon let loose another cry. It was nearer.

Jon turned, stunned, to see Drogon in the air, behind them. He screeched after them.

_Does he mean to follow us? To fight in this war?_

But he cannot. Daenerys needed him here. Jon needed him to be here to protect Daenerys and Jaehaerys, “go back, Drogon!” Jon shouted against the wind. Drogon flew behind them nonetheless, adamant. Jon’s eyes then unwittingly fell on the red coloured bricks of the Red Keep behind Drogon. His breath caught.

It truly hit Jon then. He was leaving; leaving Daenerys behind. His heart wrenched and it took every ounce of strength he had in his body not to command Rhaegal to fly to the Red Keep; to go back to see her. Just to see her, or maybe hold her. Or maybe they could share a kiss, or even a night together. It would be their last for a time but at least he could spend it loving her. _Then_ he would leave to do his duty.

Or maybe on the morrow…at the break of dawn, on the back of Rhaegal, he would catch up to the army-  

_Love is the death of duty._

Jon froze. _It truly is._ With a frustrated, pained cry, he tore his eyes from the Red Keep and to Drogon, who remained behind them. Drogon’s behaviour puzzled Jon. Drogon had never minded Jon’s presence and occasional touch before but he never concerned himself with Jon, not in the Great War and not in those four years after it. The thought of Drogon tailing him as he left for war was unbelievable.

Drogon screeched after them again, louder. _Stay_. He seemed to be saying, along with Jon’s heart.

He squeezed his eyes shut, “ _jikagon arlī!_ (go back!)” Jon bellowed. A command.

He held his breath as Drogon roared. But eventually, he slowed and the distance between them widened. Then with a last screech, Drogon turned, flying towards the Red Keep.

Jon paused as he watched Drogon fly away. Then a small smile curved over his lips.

_That’s right, boy. Go to her. Protect her. Do what I cannot. Until I return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was meant to be a Jon's POV in addition to some other things after... but I got carried away writing Jon. 
> 
> If anyone is confused about Drogon's behaviour... Jon summarised it pretty well: Drogon knew Daenerys’ heart better than anyone. 
> 
> Hope this chapter was a good read, despite the angst (so sorry about that... I honestly did not think my writing will affect so many of you like that. But all I can say now is... I have finished writing the outline for the remaining chapters and I have a feeling you guys will like it, eventually.)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I dare say..this chapter probably has the part all of you are waiting for (whether consciously or not) :)  
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

**_Tyrion_ **

_The King shits and the Hand wipes._

It was with those thoughts in his mind that Tyrion rose the steps of the iron throne. _The ugly thing._

He was already dreading the feeling of the cold and hard swords poking into his bum for the entire morning. In his stint as Hand so far, Tyrion had rarely found himself on the iron throne; the King took his duty seriously and unless absolutely necessary, the King would always be there to grace the throne. And with the Queen finally waking, Tyrion would never think he would ever have to sit on the throne. Yet, here he was.

As he came to the throne, he stared at it, pausing. In a way, sitting on the throne was empowering. He was no fool and understood the power only came from the significance of a throne and how fearsome this particular throne looked. But that understanding did not hinder the feeling of might and sometimes, when Tyrion sat it, he felt he could truly understand the significance of the Queen’s words; sometimes strength is terrible.

He turned and was about to sit when the doors of the throne room opened.

Tyrion paused. Two Unsullied pushed it open and he frowned, puzzled. Surprise added to his unabated confusion when the Queen walked in. The attire she wore was not unlike that she wore at Dragonstone, before the Great War. On one shoulder, she wore a maroon cape. Her face was an impassive mask. _Fitting, I suppose, we are at war again._

With the Queen’s absence since her confrontation with the King, Tyrion had not expected her at court today. He had not even seen her when the King departed.

The Queen came to a stop at the bottom of the throne, looking blankly at him. He blinked and descended the steps quickly and stood before her, greeting, “your Grace,”

She regarded him, her lilac eyes not revealing her thoughts.

“Apologies, your Grace. I did not think you would attend court this day,” Tyrion said.

“You thought you knew what I would and would not do,” she replied with a clipped tone.

Tyrion paused, realising he had unknowingly treaded into dangerous territory; the very reason for the argument with the King.

“The men around me seemed to know what is best for me these days,” she commented airily but her voice was low, hinting that her words were anything but casual.

Tyrion knew the impassive expression was only a mask and the dragon lurked within, close to the surface, so he said the only thing he could at this point, “I apologise your Grace. I did not mean to presume-“

“And yet you do,” she said curtly before she stepped around him and rose the steps to the throne. Tyrion closed his eyes, taking little offense with the knowledge that the words were less for him and more for another; one not here to hear them.

_The King shits and the Hand wipes._

He released a breath and proceeded to stand by the throne, the place of the Hand.

At the Queen’s nod, the soldiers proceeded to escort those who seek an audience this day.

The first few matters were trivial and quickly resolved by providing some monetary compensations or aid. Then a man came in to report that his wares have been repeatedly stolen over the past moon and he suspected and named a man, a criminal known for his petty crimes, as a suspect for these thefts. The Queen called for the City Watch to locate and arrest this man immediately and demanded for him to be brought to her.

As the Goldcloaks marched out to do as the Queen instructed, the soldiers brought in another.

This man was dressed in prisoners’ garb and had his hands chained behind his back. The soldiers forced him to his knees before the Queen. The soldiers reported his crime to be that of murder. This man had been seen to have bludgeon two men to death in the tavern when a disagreement arose.

“Do you deny the crime you are accused of committing?” the Queen asked.

The man looked up, no sign of remorse as he said, “no. Send me to the Wall and be done with it. I have had enough of the stinking cells,” he snapped.

The Queen stared at him before she spoke evenly, “you will not be sent to the Wall,” the man furrowed his brows in confusion and Tyrion understood; before the Queen, the King had always left that option open and even welcomed it, “you are not offered that option for your crime,” Tyrion glanced at the Queen, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, “I can see you are unremorseful for taking another man’s life. For that, I sentence you to die,”

The man’s eyes widened and his eyes fell on Tyrion then at the Queensguards that stood before the throne before they settled on the Queen again, “no! No! I-we are always given an option to go to the Wall for our crimes and-“

“You will die by fire at dusk this day,” Tyrion stiffened, “you will be allowed to send a raven to any family you may have, just one raven, and you will be allowed visitors until the time for your execution,” she ruled and the soldiers came forward. They pulled him to his feet and the man rose, still staring in shock at the Queen as he was dragged from the throne room.

Before the Queen could signal for the next person, Tyrion turned to her, “your Grace, it is customary that we offer the choice to join the Night’s Watch for their crimes-“

“The man has shown no remorse for what he did. He does not deserve a second chance at life,” she replied, “sending him to the Night’s Watch will only endanger the men there,”

“Your Grace, the King had always allowed the criminals the option of the Night’s Watch-“

“The King is not here, is he?” the Queen snapped and Tyrion saw the first hint of emotion on her face, “I will hear no more of this, Lord Tyrion,” the Queen said tersely, “the sentence has been given and the decision is final,” Tyrion opened his mouth despite her warning and the Queen snapped, “I did not come here to argue the definition of justice with my Hand. If you are here for that, you may leave now and we will discuss those matters in the small council meeting,” she turned from him and nodded to the guards.

Several other criminals were brought in after. Some were sentenced to solitary confinement in the black cells for their crimes, some were imposed a fine, one more was sentenced to die by fire at dusk for multiple rape.

Then a Goldcloak entered and approached the throne. He bowed, “your Grace, the man you ordered to be apprehended for suspected theft has been found and is outside the throne room,”

“Bring him in,” the Queen said, “and bring the man whose wares have been stolen,”

The Goldcloak bowed and left. Then both men were brought in. The accused man was roughed up, one eye blackened, but otherwise, looked unharmed. He was shoved roughly to his knees before the Queen.

“Is this the man you accuse of stealing your wares?” the Queen asked.

The man glanced over and nodded, “yes,”

“Do you deny it?” the Queen turned to the accused. He looked from the man beside him to her. The Queen then said, “Lying to the ruling monarch is a punishable offence; the lightest punishment, your tongue will be removed for it,”

He was visibly shaken and he said, his voice trembling, “no, I don’t deny it,” he then straightened, still on his knees, “I was only stealing to provide for my family,”

“And this man is only trying to provide for his family,” the Queen replied, “by stealing from him, you provided for your family and denied him the ability to do so for his,”

The man stared at her before he sat back, his brows furrowed as he gazed at the floor.

Her eyes fell on the victim, “the crown will compensate you for the wares that have been stolen from you twice over to recover from the losses you suffered,” then she turned to the criminal, “for your multiple records of theft, one hand of your choosing will be removed immediately,” the Queen said and the man looked horrified.

“No, m’Queen please!” he shrank back, “how will I find work with only one hand?”

The Queen stared, unusually impassive, “you have not worked to provide for your family while you have two hands. Maybe with one, you will,” she turned to Qhono, “Virsalat arakh majin zirisselat mae at qora (burn your arakh and remove one of his hand),”

“Please, Queen Daenerys,” the man was shaking visibly now, on his hands and knees, “please…” he begged as he watched Qhono proceed to the brazier, holding his arakh over it.

“Which hand do you choose to keep?” the Queen asked.

“Please-“

“Which hand?” her voice raised. Tyrion glanced over to see the Queen glaring at the man. _This is not the Queen he chose to follow._

Tyrion straightened, “your Grace,” the Queen turned to him, “perhaps this man could return the wares he have stolen and provide monetary compensation for what he did,”

“Yes! I will compensate! I will pay for what I have stolen and work if what I have is not enough-“

The Queen’s glare was terrifying. Even in the times the Queen had angered at his failures and mistakes, Tyrion had never seen the Queen look at him like that. For a moment, Tyrion thought she might have him executed with the other two men at dusk but then she said coldly, “remove Lord Tyrion from the throne room,” a knighted Queensguard, Ser Jorah, turned from his position at the foot of the throne and came to him.

Tyrion looked at him in the eye, seeing the same hesitation and uncertainty that Tyrion felt.

“Now, Ser Jorah,” the Queen said.

He placed a hand on Tyrion’s shoulder and Tyrion put one foot in front of the other. Jorah removed his hand but stayed close on his heel, escorting him out of the throne room. Tyrion briefly held the terrified gaze of the man he tried to speak up for but as their eyes met, Tyrion hurriedly averted it.

“Which hand?” Tyrion heard the Queen demand evenly, “the choice will be taken from you if you do not choose-“

“My right!” the man shouted then he broke down into sobs, “I want to keep my right-“ then he screamed. His screams followed Tyrion as he exited the throne room and even when the doors closed behind him.

Tyrion closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall by the doors.

“The Queen is not herself,”

Tyrion opened his eyes, “no,” he shook his head, staring at nothing in particular. A bitter taste settled in his mouth as he recalled Jaime’s stories of how helpless he had felt as he watched Aerys, the King he served, do unspeakable things. Tyrion had sympathised but he had never really understood. Now Tyrion knew; there were some things you had to experience to truly know.

“She is grieving, for the princess. And the King’s departure…” Jorah said, “she is not in the right mind to be making decisions. She is too angry after Arianne Martell,”

Tyrion met Jorah’s eyes, “for our sake and the sake of Westeros, I hope you are right and grief and anger is all that is,” the alternative hung in the air between them, neither daring to say the words as if saying them aloud would make it any more true. But Tyrion knew they both thought it.

_Let us hope the madness in the Targaryen blood has not come for the Queen._

When the last person left the throne room, Tyrion entered. He paused. The Queen was speaking to a page boy in an undertone. The Queen glanced over and she saw him enter but she turned back to the boy. He made himself approach nonetheless. The Queen nodded to the page boy and he bowed and left hurriedly. She turned to Tyrion then. He regarded her cautiously, no longer confident to anticipate what she was to do and her face revealed none of her thoughts.

“You will never again question my rule openly in court,” the Queen stated, staring at him with those Targaryen lilac eyes.

Tyrion paused, “when you first named me your Hand, you told me it is my council you need from me,” he looked up at her, meeting her eyes, “what use am I to you if you do not want my council? If you do not heed them or consider them when they are given?” he said gently and glanced to the side, wondering idly that if him questioning her before the man she was sentencing did not bring him death by fire, his words now surely will. But a pregnant silence fell over them.

“Do you think what I sentenced was unfair?” the Queen asked, her face still impassive.

Tyrion furrowed his brows, “they deserved to be punished but there are other means to punish those men. Less violent methods,”

“Will they learn?” she asked, “if a man who rapes was to be sent to the Night’s Watch, from what I have heard, he will probably be taking frequent trips down to the brothels in Mole’s Town or maybe help himself to a woman in the streets. And a man who murdered another but feels no remorse whatsoever…” he saw a slight shake of her head as her voice trailed off.

Tyrion pursed his lips, “we cannot kill everyone who have made mistakes and does not look remorseful. They'd have no chance to even try to change,” the Queen stayed silent, her eyes on him. Feeling some courage at her silence, he continued, his tone measured, “the people are a resource and needed at the Wall, to repair it and man it. It’s less about justice and more about _life._ It’s what we all fought for, four years ago,”

The Queen blinked and turned away from him. She took two slow steps away, pondering, before she said, “I will not have the man who raped executed today. He will stay in the black cells to repent, until he is remorseful. And then he can have a choice of the Wall, be gelded and freed, or death. But murder will not be tolerated,” she turned to him, “he killed two other men during an argument at a tavern. I will have that man executed, at dusk,”

Tyrion let out a quiet breath and he nodded. The Queen then turned and proceeded into the small council meeting chambers. He stood and pondered for a moment, realising the conversation he has had was as much about saving those men as knowing that the Queen still listened to council; heeded those who could temper her fiery impulses, other than the King.

He made to follow her to the small council meeting chambers when he paused, glancing to see the page boy, who the Queen had spoken to after court, at the door of the throne room, speaking to a Gold Cloak. Tyrion quickly walked over to them. The Gold Cloak left as Tyrion came before the page boy.

“Lord Tyrion,” the page boy bowed in greeting.

“What did the Queen need after court?” Tyrion frowned.

The page boy replied simply, “she told me to look for the man’s family; the one whose hand was removed today,”

“What for?” Tyrion asked.

“If they were truly as poor as he say, the Queen has ordered for food and whatever they may need to be provided to them till the man has recovered. And once he has, to arrange work for him,” Tyrion blinked, dismissing the page boy. As he headed quickly into the small council chambers, Tyrion thought, feeling relief fill him, _maybe the Queen is not yet as different from the one I knelt to._

* * *

 

_A moon later…._

They rose as they heard the door open and the Queen entered, Missandei on her heel, “my Lords,” she greeted evenly as she proceeded to take her seat at the head of the table. The small council this day consisted of merely him and Varys. The Master of Coin had left for the Iron Bank to discuss the issue of repaying the debt the Crown incurred; one issue that had been ongoing since the Targaryens took back the Crown. Greyworm had departed with the King, leading the Unsullied.

The Queen settled, her fingers laced together in her lap. The Queen looked beautiful, as always, in her black gown with red embroidery. Her silver hair was pulled back in braids on the back of her head but most of it was left loose down her back. Appearing to be fully recovered from the incident at the closing feast of the Tourney, her cheeks were a light but healthy shade of pink. Her lilac eyes were bright, alert. But her lips seemed to be pulled down in a permanent frown, her jaw always seemed tensed and her eyes were often vacant.  

“Shall we begin?” she asked and beside him, Varys stood.

Her eyes shifted and fell on the Spider, “word from the King,” Tyrion spied her hands tightening, just so, in her lap but could not be sure, “they have encountered a battalion of Dornish army near Nightsong and won their first battle. They are preparing to lay siege on Kingsgrave,” the Queen gave a stiff nod and said nothing. Silence fell over the chamber.

Tyrion glanced at the Queen to see a vacant, almost faraway look, in her eyes. He let out a breath and asked what the Queen would not, “what of casualties?” the Queen’s petite frame tensed visibly.

Varys replied, “minimal. On both sides, the Dornish fled. The dragon was not used in the battle and only the Crown’s soldiers, Unsullied and Baratheon soldiers,”

“And the King?” Tyrion asked, glancing furtively at the Queen. She was no longer looking at Varys but at a spot of the table before him; her face blank.

“Uninjured if the ravens are to be believed,” Varys said meaningfully at Tyrion and they both knew, the King would likely downplay any injuries in his report, if any, “he led the Crown’s soldiers into the fight, on horseback,”

Tyrion frowned. He had expected the King to do so, always too willing to fight for and with his people.

“Word from the east,” Varys continued.

The Queen’s eyes darted up. They have not heard from the East since the Meereeneese departed in the middle of the tourney. Usually, no news from such a faraway place would be considered good news for the Crown; it meant nothing unusual was happening and Tyrion would personally very much prefer for things in the East to stay as they were, as the Queen left it. Slavery was no longer and there was peace; despite rumours now and then, of a revolt but those rumours never bore any fruit-

“I received word this morning that there was an uprising and the pyramids were overran, the ruling council killed,” Tyrion paled.

A furrow formed between the Queen’s brows as she asked, “uprising? By who?”

“By the head of an old house in Meereen, the House of Ghazaq. Lazeo zo Ghazaq,” Varys replied.

The Queen’s frown deepened as she pondered, “Ghazaq,” she muttered the name and Tyrion could not say if she was finding the name completely unfamiliar or if she remembered it but could not place it, “what of the Second Sons and Rizmon?” she looked up.

Varys looked at her sombrely before he said, “Rizmon was killed when they overran the pyramids, by the new leader of the second sons, Malor,” he paused, “she was killed, after she bedded him,”

The Queen took a deep breath before she asked in a measured tone, “what does this Lazeo zo Ghazaq want? What is happening now? To the people?”

“It is yet unclear what he is after but since the leadership fell, the former slaves are put into chains again and those who resist, are killed. Most of the former masters joined Ghazaq but some resisted, those who resisted are killed as well,”

The Queen rose and Tyrion rose with her anxiously, nervous about what she intended to do.

“If this Lazeo zo Ghazaq thinks he can bring slavery back, he is sorely mistaken,” she snapped and made to turn.

“Your Grace!” Tyrion said and she paused, before meeting his eye. There was a fire in her eyes and it confirmed what Tyrion thought she intended, “we have to discuss this and-“

“The people, _my_ people, need me,” she snapped, “now, Lord Tyrion. Not later-“

“Your Grace, your people _here_ need you as well,” Tyrion said, “your _family_ needs you here,” he watched her, a meaningful look in his eyes and he sensed her resolve falter just slightly. For the Prince. Then it was gone and replaced by anger. She glared at him.

She scoffed, “You want me to sit here, on my throne, as my people halfway across the world are being put back into chain once again; enslaved?”

“We can do something for them from here-“ Tyrion started.

“I am not Robert Baratheon, nor am I Tywin Lannister,” she snarled, “I do not send assassins to murder someone I want dead halfway across the world. If I want a man dead, I will look him in the eye as I kill him,”

“Your Grace, whatever is to be done, we should at least discuss it, and consider the alternatives,” Tyrion said firmly, “we do not know what this man wants. Maybe there is a way to resolve this,” she glared at him, “without violence,” he added.

The Queen looked at him unblinkingly then and seemingly, with great difficulty, she stayed quiet. Raising a brow and inclining her chin towards him, she waited expectantly.

“Well, the obvious solution would be for you to interfere on the back of Drogon,” he said, “but that will bring up multiple issues, such as how many men will you bring with you to sail to Essos?” Most of their soldiers were in another war; with Dorne.  

“None,” the Queen replied flatly, “I would travel quicker with only Drogon, on Drogon,” Tyrion frowned, “the people need to know I’d still fight for them and they are not forgotten. They would rise up when they know that, as they did before; for me,”

“You are Queen of Westeros now,” Tyrion said, “it’s too much of a risk for you to go into battle,”

The Queen scowled at him and said quietly, “I don’t suppose you counselled the same to the King,”

_I wondered how long it will take for that to be brought up…_

Tyrion sighed, “I did and the King did not listen. But it is not the same,” _the King left the Kingdoms in the hand of another monarch, the Queen. If the Queen was to leave, who was she leaving the Kingdoms to? The Hand and a Crown Prince of four years of age; who will be crowned if anything were to happen to the both of them._

“ _How_ is this not the same?” the Queen snapped, “what have the Gods made Queens for if not to protect their people?” Tyrion grinded his teeth, knowing he has done nothing to change her mind, and coming to wits’ end as to how to change it, “and I will,”

Tyrion closed his eyes.

“Your Grace,” behind him, Varys rose, “the situation at Meereen now is not so simple,” the Queen turned her eyes on him, “you will need allies, those we can trust, from within Meereen if you are to go alone,”

 _Who?_ Daario was long dead. Rizmon dead as well.

The Queen was watching Varys intently as she asked, “who do you have in mind, Lord Varys?”

Tyrion turned to see Varys smile a knowing smile, “the House of Kandaq,” recognition of that name was visible on the Queen’s face but she was not pleased, “the Head of that house, Skahaz mo Kandaq. The Brazen Beasts are no longer, courtesy of the rebels, but in my last contact with Skahaz, he assures me those of the Brazen Beasts who are still alive will pick up their weapons at his command,”

“And the rebels let him live?” Tyrion asked.

Varys shrugged, “he swore his loyalty to them,”

“And we should trust him now because…?” Tyrion frowned.

The Queen spoke then, “he was on my council in Meereen,” she told him, “he was loyal to me and served me well,”

Tyrion frowned, “and now he swears to another,”

“To keep his life, to serve the Queen once more,” Varys said. Then they turned to the Queen. She pondered their counsel for a moment. Then she nodded to Varys and turned to the door purposefully, Missandei on her heel. Tyrion knew then she meant to depart immediately.

 

**_Jon_ **

As Jon gazed at the note he clutched in his hand, the ring caught his eye. Although he had been wearing it for a time, it still caught Jon’s eye whenever his hand came within his sight. Dressed for practicality most of the time, just as he was raised to in the North, Jon has never worn any accessory beyond what was necessary. Until now. Daenerys’ ring still sat on his little finger.

It represented her favour; that he wore in the tourney. Jon had forgotten to return it to her but he thought maybe he had forgotten because a part of him wanted to keep it, liking the thought of having a piece of Daenerys with him wherever he went. It was a simple thing; a thin band of black and gold melded together. As he ran his thumb over it, Jon felt some semblance of comfort. _I have to return. If nothing else but to put this ring, the only thing Daenerys had left of her mother, back in Daenerys’ hands._

He heard approaching footsteps before the tent flap shifted. Gendry entered, clad in a black and yellow tunic underneath his chainmail. Jon looked at him, making to stand but Gendry walked over wordlessly and sat.

It has been a moon since he left King’s Landing. A week since they started marching, Jon received a missive from Gendry that he would be leading Baratheon soldiers to join the Crown in this fight. At first, Jon had refused, adamant that this was his fight and that the soldiers he had with him was adequate. But as they passed the Stormlands, the Baratheon forces joined their ranks.

When Jon threatened to order Gendry to march his men back home, not wanting more men to lose their lives in this war; especially not the life of the man his sister was betrothed to, Gendry had told him, years ago, Ned Stark had fought beside Robert Baratheon. Now, their sons would do the same, as brothers. Seeing in those bright blue eyes that the Lord of the Stormlands had already made his decision, Jon relented. The more men they had, the sooner this would end and the sooner he could return to her.

He longed for her every day. She was on his mind in those waking moments when Jon was left alone to his own thoughts and in the night, she was in his dreams.

“Word from the capital?” Gendry helped himself to the jug of wine.

Jon gazed down at the note in his hand and he nodded. Gendry was quiet as he sipped from the goblet. Jon smiled sadly as he said, “Jaehaerys wrote to me,” he flexed his right scarred hand, stiff from the battle days past.

“It’s a happy thing,” Gendry smiled, “to know your son remembers you. To have a son…”

Jon nodded absently, “I have never received a raven from Jaehaerys,” he unfurled the note, running his thumb over the dried ink, the neat script. The sight of it made Jon’s chest swell with pride and ache at the same time, “I have never needed to. Jaehaerys has never had to write to me. He could just come to me, in the throne room or the chancery,”

Gendry placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward, “you are doing a good thing for the Prince,” Jon chuckled bitterly and shook his head. _How can war be a good thing?_ “you are giving him a Kingdom. The Seventh,”

Jon paused and his eyes rose to meet Gendry’s. He had not thought of it that way. Jon nodded then, “yes we are. I did not even realise how good he has gotten at writing,” Jon handed Gendry the small parchment and Gendry unfurled it to see the neat script.

“He loves you,” Gendry smiled down as he read. Jaehaerys had not written that in the message. In fact, the message had been impersonal; formal even. Jaehaerys had merely asked after him and where they were now, what Jon was doing. But it made Jon’s heart wrench to see Jaehaerys’ handwriting and to know that somewhere, miles away, his son had spared his father a thought, “you are a good father, Jon,”

Jon forced a smile to his lips as Gendry handed him back the parchment. _Then why do I feel like such a failure? That I have abandoned my son, my son who is barely five, who needs me now more than ever. I let my daughter die-_

“Jon,” Gendry started but hesitated. Jon looked on curiously. Eventually, Gendry asked, “why is the Queen not with us?” he had been in the Great War with them and Gendry knew the Queen was no ordinary woman. She would not take the backseat in a fight under any circumstances, especially when she would bring with her to the battle a great asset; the largest dragon that only she could mount.

Jon tensed. He could think of a thousand reasons to answer that question but he settled on the simplest one, not in the mood for any more conversation, “she needs rest from what happened at the feast,”

Gendry paused, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Jon. Then Gendry nodded, deciding to thankfully not pursue the issue, and rose, “I’ll let you rest,” he came around the table and squeezed Jon’s shoulder, “be strong. This would be over soon,”

Jon nodded, avoiding his eye and Gendry left the tent.

 _Daenerys did need rest._ But she did not want it. His Queen. His strong Queen. _Strong and stubborn_. He cracked a sad smile. Jon knew deep down he would never allow her to fight in wars again if he could stop it.

She was strong but Jon was not so. He was afraid for her- _No_.

He was absolutely terrified.

_It was snowing. Jon looked up at the dark looming clouds and then across the horizon of the snow covered landscape. A screech caught his attention and he turned to see Drogon emerge from the clouds only to disappear again. Jon caught a glimpse of the green of Rhaegal as he broke through the cloud cover as well. The dragons were never far from their mother if they could help it. And now, Rhaegal kept close to him as well._

_She was standing at the battlement. Her silver hair was braided neatly and she was clad warmly in white furs and armour. Her lilac eyes were bright and fixed determinedly on the horizon, northwards._

_Then there was a shout and Jon turned back to face the front. He squinted against the snow and spotted movement. As far as the eye could see, the army of the dead stretched across the lands. Jon froze, his heart pounding in his chest. They would no doubt be overwhelmed and surrounded. But they will fight._

_“Nock!” Jon shouted and the archers obeyed, their arrows armed with dragonglass arrow heads, “Draw!” he watched the dead approach. When they were within range, Jon bellowed, “loose!” he watched as the arrows shot from their bows, whistling through the air. It struck the dead and they fell but for every one that fell, two more replaced it._

_“Dovaogēdy!_ _Nābēmātās! (Fire!)” Daenerys commanded and Jon watched as the trebuchet fixed on the castle walls were released by the Unsullied manning them. The Unsullied surrounded the walls of the castle, the last defence, snapped to attention; their spears pointed outwards and their shields up._

_Barrels flew through the air and broke as it fell into the army of the dead, bursting into flames. The undead trampled over their burning comrades and marched forward relentlessly, uncaring if they were burnt. Jon knew they were getting too close despite their efforts and it was time to put their second line of defence into action._

_And Daenerys knew that too. Jon felt despair claw a dark pit in his stomach. This was the moment he had dreaded since Daenerys pledged herself and everything she had to his cause. He remembered he had felt both relieved and terrified, for he was already in love with her and could not bear the thought of losing her in this fight he dragged her into; a battle with the dead, and possibly to the death._

_A roar sounded from the clouds and Drogon descended. He landed on the roof of the battlement and lowered a wing to Daenerys. She glanced down from the walls and her eyes stayed on Jon a moment longer and Jon felt a lump form in his throat. Then the moment was gone as she turned from him, climbing onto Drogon’s back._

_“Qoy Qoyi!” the Dothraki horselords brandished their dragonglass arakhs into the air, calling in reply with feral shouts, some hammering on their chest. Hundred thousand of Dothraki screamers, all willing to die for their Queen, “Hash yeri m’anhoon ma jinne? (Are you with me now?)”_

_“Ai, Qoy Qoyi!” the horselords roared back to her, some hammering their chests and others rearing their horses._

_“Kisha vidrogerat niyanqoy! (We ride together!)” she shouted and Drogon let loose a deafening roar._

_Then Drogon took off from the battlements._

_Underneath, the Dothraki screamed their war cries and spurred their horses onwards; the vanguard. The thundering of hundred thousand horses was like nothing Jon had ever heard; it was terrifying. But that did little when their enemy felt nothing._

_Drogon flew up into the cloud banks. Then as the Dothraki neared the army, they descended with Rhaegal behind them, “Dracarys!”_

_Black fire streamed from Drogon, scorching the army of the dead. Beside him, Rhaegal spewed forth orange fire._

_“Charge!” Jon shouted and he led his men into the fray; Northmen and wildings alike._

* * *

_Jon could taste the blood in his mouth and feel it running down the side of his head. He decapitated another wight and looked up. A bone chilling screech, unlike any of the sounds Jon had heard from Daenerys’ dragons filled the air. His eyes widened as he saw that what Bran and Tormund saw and reported was true. The Night King was sat atop Viserion and approaching Daenerys and Drogon, faster than Jon had ever seen any of her dragons fly._

Daenerys!

_“RHAEGAL!” Jon roared, taking down two more approaching wights. A replying screech came from above and Jon ducked as orange flames set his nearest enemies alight. The green dragon landed beside him and Jon clamoured over his back hastily, “Fly!” he commanded quickly, eyeing approaching wights from behind. Rhaegal roared, sweeping his tail through the wights behind him, and took off into the air._

_As they rose, he searched the skies for Daenerys. When he saw her, his stomach dropped. Viserion breathed blue fire at Drogon and Daenerys. Drogon fell sharply, narrowly avoiding it. Then Daenerys urged Drogon to twist around quickly and black fire streamed from Drogon as blue poured from Viserion. Both fires met in a deadlock in the skies._

_He urged Rhaegal forward, “Dracarys!” the Night King turned and saw him. Viserion stopped then, just as Rhaegal’s fire came towards the Night King. Viserion flew up, his speed incredible; unnatural. Drogon’s fire hit Rhaegal’s and both dragons halted their attack. Jon met Daenerys’ eyes briefly before they both flew up, after Viserion._

_Viserion was faster than either Drogon or Rhaegal. But he was smaller too; having stopped growing upon his death._

_In the skies, Jon guided Rhaegal as best as he could, keeping a lookout for an opening and commanding for dragon fire at the right time. He kept at it, as did Daenerys but it quickly became evident where they fell short, crucially; they tired but Viserion showed no signs of slowing._

_“JON!”_

_He turned, recognising the voice; Arya. Then beneath him, Rhaegal screeched in pain and jerked unnaturally, falling. Jon clutched his spikes firmly._

_“Dracarys!” He heard Daenerys. As Rhaegal straightened himself, Jon turned to look up to see Daenerys and Drogon between him and Viserion and the Night King._

_Beneath him, Jon could feel that Rhaegal was shaking with the effort to stay in the skies and they were descending as Rhaegal’s wings began to beat slowly, sluggishly. Jon could not see what was wrong from where he was but when Jon looked to the ground, he saw Arya kill a white walker; who presumably had thrown an ice spear and harmed Rhaegal. One thing was clear to Jon: they had to land or he could lose Rhaegal and his own life if Rhaegal were to fall._

_“Viserion!” Daenerys shouted, the dragons’ fires locked, “ñuha riña (my child),”_

_A screech left Viserion and the blue of its fire intensified. Blue engulfed black and Drogon jerked his head to the side in attempt to duck but the blue flames struck the side of Drogon’s neck. Drogon roared. Jon was horrified as the blow sent Drogon spinning through the air, his wings haphazard and unable to catch the wind. As Drogon fell, Viserion dived after him; his jaws, lined with black teeth, were wide open._

_Jon leaned forward, determined, knowing what he must do. A promise he made came to him:_ I will protect him with mine own life.

I am sorry, Daenerys.

_“Rhaegal please!” Jon cried and Rhaegal snarled. With a mighty flap, Rhaegal heaved his trembling body up to the fray._

_As Viserion neared, “Dracarys!” Daenerys commanded and black fire streamed from Drogon, towards Viserion. But the Night King raised a hand and Drogon’s fire skimmed the snout of Viserion, not harming the wight dragon. Then Viserion’s jaws came towards Daenerys._

_“Dracarys!” Rhaegal’s orange flame forced Viserion to twist to the side, the fire skimming its belly. Nonetheless, Viserion continued in his dive and his jaw closed around Drogon’s shoulder, just short of Daenerys._

_Drogon roared and Daenerys screamed in pain with her dragon._

_Jon urged Rhaegal after their falling form. He would command for fire against Viserion now but Jon did not want to harm Daenerys or Drogon. With an angry screech amidst the pain, Drogon twisted his neck and sank his teeth into Viserion’s neck, over the gaping wound that took his life; his own shoulder still lodged in Viserion’s jaw. Viserion barely reacted to the vicious bite. Jon did not hear the command but black fire poured from Drogon into Viserion’s neck._

_Viserion screeched, as if in pain, releasing Drogon from its jaw as it disintegrated into pieces that resembled broken ice._

_As the wight dragon disappeared, Daenerys and Drogon spiralled to the ground quickly, “Daenerys!” Jon shouted, spurring Rhaegal faster but Rhaegal was trembling terribly under him and instead, they were both plummeting to the ground after Drogon and Daenerys. He could not see Daenerys from where he was. Drogon flailed in the air, struggling to regain flight._

_As they neared the ground, Drogon managed to spread his wings and caught the wind just enough to slow their descent. Nonetheless, they hit the snow covered ground jarringly; Drogon landing belly first._

_Jon slowed Rhaegal in the skies as he spied Daenerys still on Drogon’s back, safe, and he let out a shaky breath of relief._

_Daenerys seemed winded as she stumbled from atop Drogon and into the snow. Drogon was unmoving and Jon watched worriedly as she staggered forward towards Drogon’s head._

_As Jon guided Rhaegal to land nearby, trying to keep the landing soft for the trembling dragon, he saw a speck of movement near Drogon and Daenerys. The Night King._

_He advanced purposefully and before Jon could call to Daenerys, the Night King’s icy hand reached out and grabbed her around the back of her neck. She tried to twist herself loose but his grip was unrelenting. Then she screamed, in what could only be agony._

_Jon had never heard her scream like that and the sound of it ripped at his heart, “no!” As Rhaegal landed heavily, sweeping snow everywhere. Jon slipped from Rhaegal and hit the ground hard. He groaned as he staggered to his feet and made a mad dash to Daenerys, “No! Daenerys!” with the Night King’s grip still around her neck, she was no longer struggling._

_As he neared, Jon drew Longclaw._

_The Night King released her then and Daenerys staggered back, her eyes closed. When she opened them, her once beautiful lilac eyes were a piercing blue; cold, dead._

_Jon froze. His heart stopped as his blood chilled in his veins. His arms felt like lead. He could no longer feel his hands that held Longclaw. His legs stayed, unable to move. He could only stare._ Not Daenerys. Not his Dany.

_Her blue eyes were a shockingly light blue shade as she stared vacantly at him, the Night King behind her, a hand on her shoulder._

_“Daenerys…” he whispered. He gazed at her, then at her abdomen, where he knew, under the armour, there was a small swell; life. Jon knew then he could not do it; he could never harm her or their child, even if they were dead. He would rather let her kill him than harm her._

Love truly is the death of duty. _Then his eyes met the Night King’s and Jon felt rage beyond measure fill him. Glaring, Jon stalked forward, Longclaw held at the ready. He saw the Night King draw his ice blade then, coming forward to meet Jon._

_Jon swung Longclaw and the ice blade came up, too quickly, to meet him. The Night King swung and Jon parried it quickly before drawing back to stab at him but the Night King side stepped, his blade parrying Longclaw to the side. The Night King was evidently faster than he was and Jon could feel the fatigue in his arms, from fighting wights, that made him slower than he usually was._

_The Night King made to stab Jon in the middle. Jon ducked, rolling to the side. He swung low and the Night King blocked his strike, Longclaw ringing against the ice blade. Then the Night King reached towards his arm with an open palm. As he neared, Jon yelled in pain and shock, stepping back quickly. He pulled his sleeve up to reveal a red raw patch on his arm; ice that burns._

_The Night King lunged at him with the Ice blade and Jon parried but his parry was weak, with only one arm wielding Longclaw. Jon stumbled, struggling to keep a hold on Longclaw. The Night King saw his momentary vulnerability and kicked him viciously in the chest. Jon fell back, winded, his chest burning with pain. He scrambled to his feet, aware of the Night King advancing on him to finish the fight. He turned to see the ice blade high above him. Jon struggled to bring up Longclaw before him, deep down knowing he would not be fast enough._

Dracarys.

_Jon had thought he had imagined it. But when the Night King turned around, black fire surged towards him. Jon rolled to the side to avoid the flames, allowing hope to fill him that this could be the end of the war. But the Night King raised a hand and the fire seemed to stop short of burning him; magic._

_Jon then looked to the voice and he was stunned, speechless._

_Drogon still on the ground, his neck craned for him to breathe fire towards the Night King. Just in front of him stood Daenerys. She was in the thick of his flames; the black fire shrouding her, flowing around her. But it never harmed her; she wasn’t in pain. Her armour, blackened and weakened, fell off her body. Her furs were already long gone. Her hair was loose, the ties that held the braids together disintegrating in the intense heat. She advanced forward, fire in her eyes as it was around her, her silver hair wild around her. She looked beautiful._ My bride of fire.

_She approached the Night King with Drogon’s fire still at her back and around her. She reached towards him, intending to breach his magic that protected him from Drogon’s fire. The Night King stepped back, his every feature indicative of surprise but it was only slight. Daenerys replied then to his unasked question,_ _“_ _Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor_ _,”_

A dragon is not a slave.

_Daenerys was never gone, as Jon had thought. How could she be when the Night King, no one, could make a slave of a dragon? Relief flooded his body and Jon released a shaky breath. As he turned to see the Night King take another step back from Daenerys, avoiding her touch, Jon seethed. With Longclaw raised and in his hands, Jon approached, his chest screaming in objection with every step._

_He was near enough when the Night King seemed to notice him, turning to meet him but he could not for Drogon’s fire was unyielding. He seemed to be attempting to reach for his ice blade with his other hand when Jon plunged Longclaw into his chest without a moment of hesitation._

_The first clear sign, and last, of shock flittered over his features before he disintegrated into shards of ice upon Longclaw. As the magic fell, Jon expected the fire to engulf him and knew there was little he could do. Jon fell to his knees. His body was throbbing, his chest burning, and his face was caked with dry blood from before when he fought on foot with his men._

_When the pain of the fire did not come, he looked up to see that Drogon had stopped, slumping to the ground, and before him stood Daenerys. He marvelled at the sight of her, in awe. She stood where she was before the Night King, her naked form only blemished by the soot of the fire. She was entirely unharmed from the fire and Jon could only gape._ The Unburnt.

_His eyes met her lilac ones and Jon smiled at her._

_The edges of her lips twitched up but before she could smile, suddenly, her eyes fluttered close and her knees buckled. She sank heavily to the ground._

_“Daenerys!” he scrambled to her, unclasping his cloak from around his shoulder hastily. He wrapped her petite form in his cloak and gathered her in his arms. He gazed down at her and met her lilac eyes,_ _“we did it…” he told her, almost not daring to believe it was over, “together,” she was nestled in his arms, her head cradled against his chest. She was shockingly pale, almost white against the snow._

_A weak smile graced her lips as she met his eyes, “I did give you my word,” her voice was so thin it was barely a whisper._

_“Yes you did, my Queen,” he pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. Her skin was ice against his lips._

_She sighed, “I am so tired, Jon Snow,” she whispered, her eyes closed._

_He touched her freezing cheek, “sleep, my Queen. When you wake, you will be warm and safe and I will be with you. Then we will go to King’s Landing and we will take back the Iron Throne, together,”_

_She smiled weakly, nodding. Then she nestled her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes._

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: prepare yourselves for some heartbreak this chapter

**_Daenerys_ **

She came to Maegor’s Holdfast; she had intended to change for the upcoming battle. As she came into the familiar corridors, a strange ache in her, that had been a constant for far too long, suddenly grew. With no one with her but her Dothraki, Ser Jorah and Missandei, she no longer needed to be a Queen and she could no longer ignore it. She stopped walking. As she stared down the corridors, she tightened her fists, frantically stamping out the feeling but it was impossible.

He was gone.

She knew when he left. She had heard her children. She heard Rhaegal go to him, to bring him away from her. With every fibre of her being, she willed him to stay and she heard Drogon’s fury and then plea. Every keen from Drogon resonated with that of her heart’s. _Stay._ They had pleaded as one. She wondered now if he knew, if he heard her at all.   

Regardless, he left anyway. For family. For duty. A part of her knew he would leave, even if he did not want to. It was always his way.

As Drogon’s cries grew urgent, realisation that she did not know when or if she would see him again knocked the wind from her. Panicked, Daenerys had bolted to the balcony quickly, alarming her handmaidens. Her eyes frantically searched the dragonpit but it was empty. Then she saw them in a distance. Rhaegal’s scales shone bright, like jades, under the light of the sun, as did his armour. He was almost gone from her sight.

As she intently took in the sight of his retreating back, atop Rhaegal, Daenerys’ fingers clutched the parapet so tightly her nails that dug into the concrete began to hurt. Drogon let out a long wailing screech to her as he approached and Daenerys felt an impulse to follow him atop Drogon. But words, one of the last she heard from him, came to her; stopping her.

 _Let_ me _bring Dorne into the fold, as I should have done four years ago_.

Daenerys knew he could do it. He always could. He was one of, and if not, the greatest fighter she knew; and an exceptional commander. With a dragon, Rhaegal, and an army at his back, he would not lose.

 _He cannot._ Her heart said.

Daenerys knew she wanted to go not because she was needed in the war, but because she wanted to be where he was at; wherever in this world, she wanted to be with him, always. But her head knew her place was here; in King’s Landing, with their son and to rule as Queen, especially with the absence of the King.

She had been stubborn, in her anger at him for keeping things from her and her sorrow for the loss of their daughter. It kept her from going to him while she stayed in their chambers, dreading his eventual departure. In his absence in the bed by her side, she sunk deeper in the misery of it. But she had chosen to stay away from him as he did from her.

As Daenerys stood watching her husband and Rhaegal slowly, but yet all too quickly, turn into a small speck against the vast sky, she longed for the sight of his sweet face; the feel of his large rough hand in hers; the taste of his lips; the sound of his voice. _If I don’t return, at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore._ What she would give to hear it again? _Just once more_.

But she knew she had a choice and she made it. Now, she must live with her choice; to suffer the knowledge that he was in danger and at any moment, she could be robbed of her chance to ever see him again.

 _Don’t die Jon Snow._ She had thought before she tore her eyes from the, now empty, sky. She turned from the balcony then, becoming who she needed to be; no longer a wife but a Queen before her handmaidens.  

“Your Grace?” she blinked from her reverie and turned to Missandei. Missandei was looking worriedly at her. Daenerys shook her head dismissively and begun walking in the opposite direction of her chambers. Missandei, Ser Jorah, Qhono and Aggo followed her quietly.

Ser Umber and Ser Manderly bowed to her as she approached, greeting her. She nodded stiffly to them. As she made to knock, she saw Arya walking from the opposite direction, with no entourage guarding her but her slim sword and her Valyrian steel dagger at her hip.

Arya did not smile at her as she usually would and Daenerys knew Arya knows why she came here, “I heard from Tyrion,”

The disapproval was plain on her face. Daenerys nodded stiffly.

“Here to say your goodbye?” Arya asked with a nod to the door. She nodded again, “well… do it gently… the little white wolf has been through enough,” 

Daenerys tensed. She looked at Arya, who showed no intention to enter. Then Daenerys knocked and opened the door. She gestured for her entourage to stay outside.

The solar was bright with the sun streaming in from the open window. In the middle of the solar, the Prince sat on a rug on the floor and in his lap, was a huge book. His hair was not pulled back this day but left in its wild curls around his face. She loved his curls like this. His little fingers were buried in Suvion’s fur. The wolf was resting beside him, its head perking up as the door opened. Beside Jaehaerys, Maester Samwell was sitting on the floor as well and he seemed to be pointing to something in the book.

At that moment, he looked so small between Suvion and Samwell; it struck her then how very young Jaehaerys still was. He was her son, still almost a babe, of her own flesh and blood.  

Maester Samwell rose hurriedly, surprised by her presence, “your Grace,” he greeted, bowing.

She had not known Jaehaerys was having his lessons but it made no matter. She had to speak to Jaehaerys now, “Maester Samwell. Will you please excuse us for a moment?” she said quietly, turning to the wet nurse and the page boy as well. They blinked, surprised, at the courtesy she showed them before they bowed quickly and left. As Maester Samwell closed the door behind him, she looked at Jaehaerys. He was looking at her curiously but made no move to come to her, the large book still in his lap. She approached and felt a familiar pang in her chest. _Those eyes._

“Mother,” Jaehaerys mumbled a greeting and he slowly put aside the book and stood. She sat on a stool and watched him approach. His back was hunched and his eyes were downcast. Her son has not been himself since his Father’s departure but he always had a smile for her. As Jaehaerys came to stand before her, a small smile spread across his rosy lips. Her son, _their_ son, was beautiful.

Gently, she brushed the thick curls from his face, “how are you this day, Jaehaerys?” she asked softly.

Jaehaerys shrugged his shoulders once before he stepped closer and pressed his face into her chest, his little arms coming around her waist, “the lessons are boring,” he told her in a small voice.

She wrapped her arms around him. Her little boy was warm against her today. She smiled at that for usually others felt cold to her. It was good to feel the warmth of another, “what are you learning about?” she asked.

“The Age of the Heroes,” he mumbled, “how the Pact started,” he pulled back and looked up at her, his arms still around her, “I’d rather learn about Old Valyria but Maester Sam said we will learn about the Pact first and how the First Men and the Children of the Forest made peace,”

_They were here together. The Children and the First Men._

Her wrist tingled with the memory of his gentle touch, their first touch.  

_They fought together. Against their common enemy. Despite their differences. Despite their suspicions. Together._

“Have you finished court?” she blinked and looked down to see those very same grey eyes.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And the small council meeting?” he asked, a trace of a smile on his lips.

Daenerys nodded and smiled sadly as Jaehaerys’ eyes lit up.

“Will you spend the day with me, Mother? We can ride Drogon around the city,” he grinned, “the people do so love to see Drogon now, since he is no longer grumpy,” for a moment, since his father left, Jaehaerys was truly happy again.

Her heart panged as she shook her head, “I am sorry but I have to do something Jaehaerys,” she said sombrely, “something very important,”

She watched as Jaehaerys’ smile slowly faded and she felt her resolve, shaky since she saw him, begin to crumble, “where are you going this time?” she reached for him but Jaehaerys stepped back quickly, stumbling on his heel. She shot out to steady him but Suvion was already there behind him. The direwolf had his teeth on the back of Jaehaerys’ linen shirt, holding him up. Daenerys gazed at the white direwolf, grateful for its presence, “you’re leaving me,” Jaehaerys accused thickly.

“Meereen, Jaehaerys,” Daenerys replied, “I am going to Meereen. You learnt about it from Maester Sam. I am their Queen and now they need me,”

Jaehaerys shook his head, “I want to come see,”

 _No_.

“You promised you will bring me to Essos one day,” Jaehaerys jutted his chin defiantly, challenging her.

She did. Jaehaerys had complained about having to know the history of Essos as well but when Daenerys told him she had grown up there, he seemed more willing. Then she had promised him she will bring him there one day, on the back of Drogon, and Jaehaerys had studiously read the pages Maester Sam had instructed, “and I will. But now, I have to make it peaceful and safe again before you can come visit,”

“No!” he stomped his feet and Daenerys glimpsed fire in his eyes. Beside him, Suvion’s hackles rose and he growled at her.

“Jaehaerys,” she said firmly.

“No!” Jaehaerys only raised his voice, his face crumbling into that of sheer distress.

Daenerys reached for him then but he slapped her hand away and before she could even rise from the chair, he turned and sprinted into his sleeping chambers. He slammed the door behind him. Suvion yelped as the door closed before he could enter. The direwolf rose on its hind legs and pawed at the door, whining loudly. Daenerys sighed. She stood and went to the door.

“Jaehaerys, open this door now,” she said sternly. There was no reply and she tried to open it to realise she could not, “Jaehaerys!” she warned, worried. Then she paused, realising her voice was that of a Queen’s. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She cannot leave her son like this. She had a choice now and this time, she would at least try to make it the right one, “Jaehaerys, I have to go now,” she said thickly, “please, open this door. Let Mother see you one more time before I go,”

It was quiet on the inside of the room.

 _Jaehaerys_ … her son, _our_ son. _What else can I expect?_ She thought with bitter amusement at the stubbornness of Jaehaerys. A lump formed in her throat then as she began to accept the fact that she might have to leave like this, “ _jorrāelagon Muña ao_ (Mother loves you),” she looked down at the direwolf to see it looking up at her. Its orange eyes were bright and it looked at her with a strange sort of understanding that she did not see in common beasts; only in her dragons and Ghost. _Take care of my son._

The direwolf turned to the closed door again, pawing at it weakly.

Daenerys took a breath and turned away, walking out of the solar. But before she made it halfway to the door, the door of the sleeping chambers flew open behind her. She spun around, relieved. She saw a blur of silver and black before she almost keeled over from a force around her legs. Jaehaerys pressed himself against her leg, his arms tight around her hips.

“ _Ȳdra daor jikagon Muña_ (Don’t go, Mother),” his cry was muffled as he buried his face into her hip, “ _Ȳdra daor henujagon nyke mērī aril_ (don’t leave me alone again),”

She choked on a sob that she quickly bit back. Gently but firmly, she removed his arms from around her and knelt, “I’m sorry, Jaehaerys,” his eyes were squeezed shut as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck firmly. He shook his head frantically at her words, “be good. I’ll return quickly,” she whispered into his ear, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“ _Daor_ ,” Jaehaerys whimpered, burying his face into her neck and she felt hot tears on her skin. Her son was crying, for her, “ _daor,_ _Muña_ (no, Mother),”

“Jaehaerys, be good,” Daenerys coaxed, her eyes stinging with tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, “be good,” she whispered but his arms maintained a vice-like grip around her neck. Daenerys struggled to pry his arms away but Jaehaerys had held on tight. _I must go now,_ “Jeyne!” she called, “Ser Umber, Ser Manderly!” _or I will never leave._

The door burst open and Arya entered first. Then the wet nurse entered, followed closely by two of the Prince’s guards she called. They seemed confused for a moment before realising she needed help extracting the Prince. Arya stared at the scene before her, standing by the door as the others obeyed the Queen. Jaehaerys began to bawl loudly as the wet nurse wrapped a hand around his arm and tugged. His cheeks and ears were red from crying, his eyes swollen with tears flowing from them. As Ser Umber and Ser Manderly came forward to tug him away gently and Jaehaerys lost his grip on her, he screamed in protest. A growl was heard from behind the knights.

The white direwolf stood close by, baring his teeth menacingly. With his hackles raised like this, the white direwolf looked large and fearsome; almost no longer a pup. He barked a warning at the knights and they hesitated, their grip still on the Prince. Then the direwolf dashed forward, snapping his jaws dangerously close to the hands of the knights and the wet nurse. The wet nurse yelped and they released Jaehaerys abruptly. Jaehaerys stumbled to the ground.

Daenerys felt something in her chest twinge with pain but she stilled herself, her hands fisted at her side.

Arya glanced at her with a frown before she stepped forward hurriedly to help, “Jae,” she made to help him up but Jaehaerys shoved her away and looked to his Mother. Arya followed his gaze sadly.

“ _Muña_ _kostilus_ (Mother please),” Jaehaerys sobbed, “ _umbagon lēda nyke, Kesan sagon sȳz, nyke kivio_ (stay with me, I will be good, I promise),”

She clenched her teeth against the sob that rose. She shook her head. _I can’t, my baby. I can’t. I am your mother but I am also the Queen. The people, who call me Mhysa, need me now._

Jaehaerys sniffed loudly, his grey eyes wide, pleading, “ _Muña…_ ” Arya was gazing at her, pleading as well.

Daenerys felt her resolve leaving her so she turned from them quickly, swallowing a sob as she said softly, “ _ȳdra daor sagon zūgagon, ñuha riña. Kesan sagon kesīr lēda ao. Sesīr lo ñuha issaros iksis daor kesīr, emā ñuha prūmia_ (Don’t be afraid, my child. I will be here with you. Even if my body is not, you have my heart),”

“ _Muña…_ ,” another whimper and Daenerys felt an impulse to turn back to him to sweep his little body into her arms, vowing never to let him go again _._

Biting her tongue and tasting the tang of blood on her tongue, she steeled herself and walked out the door.

“ _Muña!_ ” Jaehaerys screamed. She glimpsed Jaehaerys scramble to his feet and lunged for her but Arya caught his arm, holding him back. Daenerys averted her eyes and walked quicker, “ _kostilus!_ (please!) MOTHER!” It followed her out the door and into the corridors. And even as she mounted Drogon, she could still hear him. His screams, pleading with her, begging her, haunted her.

 

**_Arya_ **

_Protect Jaehaerys._

That was the last thing Daenerys had said to her before Drogon took off; with Varys, Jorah and three more Kingsguard. And in a way, the last thing Jon said to her was asking for her to protect Jaehaerys too, and protect Daenerys.

 _Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen_ , Arya thought as she gazed at the large black dragon, disappearing into the distance, _they are more alike than they know. Both would do anything for the people and for each other and their son. It hurt Jon to leave Daenerys but his departure killed what was left of Daenerys; what was left from the death of the princess._

Since Jon left, Arya tried to talk to Daenerys but it was like she became a different person. She had heard of Daenerys’ harsher ways compared to Jon but when Arya witnessed Daenerys command Drogon to burn a man alive, even Arya knew Daenerys was not herself. But it was not the fact that the man was sentenced to death; he was a murderer and deserved it. But it was the look in her eyes as the man screamed; there was nothing, her eyes were vacant. It was a quick death but gruesome.

The page boys and handmaidens who witnessed this was scared; by the death or maybe Daenerys’ indifference. But it did not frighten Arya. Daenerys was still Daenerys, a part of the pack. Dragon or wolf, Daenerys would not hurt family. So Arya seek Daenerys out every day. And every morning, when Arya came to her chambers, Daenerys would always be standing in the balcony, gazing across the horizon, in the direction of the dragonpit. She did not reply when Arya asked what she was doing but Arya knew. Daenerys was waiting for Jon to return on the back of Rhaegal. Arya herself waited every day for her big brother to return.

When Arya tried to engage her in conversation, Daenerys was distracted, unengaged, when previously, conversation flowed easily between the two of them. Arya could still recall how Daenerys’ eyes have twinkled as she teased her about Gendry. Arya missed her. Daenerys had also not spoken beyond what was necessary with Missandei or her Dothraki or Ser Jorah. When Jaehaerys came to her, she listened more than she spoke and then they would curl up to sleep. Some days, Arya felt Jaehaerys was the only thing keeping Daenerys human. Her smiles were only for her son.

Arya looked down when Drogon was out of sight. She squeezed the pommel of Needle by her side and turned to head back to the Red Keep. Now, Arya would do what she can for her pack. She would protect Jaehaerys.

She went straight to Jaehaerys’ chambers when she returned. The wet nurse was standing outside, as were both the knights charged with the Crown Prince’s protection. She raised a brow at the wet nurse and she bowed in greeting.

Arya raised a hand to knock. The moment she knocked, a crash sounded on the other side of the door and it made her jump.

“I said GO AWAY!” Jaehaerys screamed, his voice soon drowned out by a loud mournful howl from his direwolf.

“Jae, it’s aunt Arya,” Arya said. No reply, “Jae, open this door please,” she tried to open the door but it was bolted. She sighed in frustration. _As stubborn as his parents combined,_ “Jaehaerys Targaryen, open this door!”

“NO!” Jaehaerys shouted.

Arya rolled her eyes and lowered her voice, “you’re going to miss your lessons like this,”

“I don’t care!” he snapped thickly and Arya felt her heart twinge uncomfortably at the thought that Jaehaerys was crying.

She swallowed and spoke clearly, confidently, “really? Did you forget? I promised you that you can practice using Needle today,”  

A pause. Then he shouted, “go away!” but Arya did not miss the waver in his resolve and tone.

“Are you sure?” Arya asked, “what kind of Crown Prince are you if you don’t keep your word and attend your lessons?” she paused, “what kind of King would you be-“

The door flung open. She looked down to see Jaehaerys standing there. His eyes were red rimmed and swollen. His face had traces of tear streaks. His cheeks were flushed and had traces where he had roughly rubbed away the tears.

Arya let out a breath and crouched before him, “oh Jaehaerys…” she opened her arms and he hesitated before he walked into her embrace, snaking his arms around her neck, “you are so strong and brave, did you know that?”

Jaehaerys said then, “no, I’m not. I’m afraid. Afraid I won’t ever see Mother or Father again,”

_What should I tell him? What can I tell him? Can I make another promise to him; one I am not able to keep?_

Arya gently rubbed his back, “can I tell you a secret?” Jaehaerys pulled away and looked at her, curious, “being afraid is the only time a man can be brave,” a shadow of a smile crept over his face but then it was gone. Arya straightened then and offered a hand, “come on now, little white wolf. There’s no time to be lazy. Time for your lessons,”

Jaehaerys looked up at her, nodding. But he did not take her hand as she had expected. Instead, upon straightening his back, puffing his chest out and holding his chin levelled, he made his way to his lessons. For his age, the regality with which Jaehaerys carried himself, no doubt in imitation of his Mother and Father, was almost comical. But as Arya gazed at the back of Jaehaerys, flanked by two of his Kingsguards and his direwolf at his side, she could almost see a King; a good King, a kind King.

 

**_Daenerys_ **

“Where is he?” she turned to Varys. The eunuch was wearing a sand coloured cape with a hood pulled over his bald head, as they all were.

“He will send his men to meet us at the Eastern postern,”

“His men?” Jorah frowned and she met his eyes. He thought being received by the servants of Skahaz mo Kandaq a slight to the Queen. But they were not being received. They were sneaking into the city. They would attack from the inside by inciting a rebellion against the rebels.

When Daenerys had told Varys she intended to land Drogon on Kandaq’s pyramid and they would go from there, he had gently objected, insisting that they should enter discreetly and find out what was happening from the inside before inciting a battle within the city. She countered then that she should then fly Drogon to Lazeo zo Ghazaq’s pyramid and burn the man alive, ending the battle before it could begin. But that plan was not to be as well when Varys informed her that he kept prisoners in his pyramid with him, men and women and children who remained loyal to her.

So here they were. They had dismounted from Drogon and walked the rest of the way to the city. Drogon had purred uncomfortably as she stepped away from him but she assured him and instructed him to stay away until he was called.

As assured by the message from Skahaz delivered by Varys’ little birds, the guards of the Eastern postern of the city were curiously absent. They approached quietly and quickly when the cloud covered the moon, their way not lit even by the moonlight.

She felt Jorah’s gentle hand on the inside of her elbow, guiding her and she felt a small semblance of safety, as she always did with her Bear around. For a small moment, she was reminded of her time in Essos, before Westeros; when he was all she had to protect her. He was the one who had been there from the very beginning. He was strong and wise and she had always valued his counsel. His betrayal, forgiven but never forgotten, taught her the valuable lesson of caution; one a Queen should always have and Daenerys held it close to her to this day.

Jorah saved her life more times than she could count and he guarded her life tirelessly, since the beginning and even now. While Jon’s face was the last she saw in the Great War, Jorah’s face was the first she saw when she woke. The first indication of the years she have lost were written clearly on his face. The years have carved lines into his forehead and cheeks. His black beard was dotted generously with grey and the little hair he had left was lined with grey as well. He had been gentle with her, protective as she remembered and it offered a strange comfort that she might have felt from a father or an older brother, had Viserys not lost himself in the madness.

“ _Khaleesi,_ ” a whisper from said man brought her attention into the darkness of the Eastern postern. He tugged her back and she relented. He carefully positioned his broad body before hers. Around her, 3 knights of the Kingsguard took his cue and reached for their longsword, all close around her.

“ _qilōni is konīr_? (Who goes there?)” came a firm voice but Daenerys could hear the trace of fear underneath. She glimpsed the silhouette of the owner of the voice.

“ _ao ēlī_ (you first),” Daenerys spoke. Jorah tensed by her side when she spoke.

The man shuffled forward. Around her, the men drew their swords. He dropped to his knees then, “ _Mhysa_ ,” he breathed, his head bowed.

Daenerys withheld her relief as she regarded the knelt man before her. She glanced to Jorah and met his eyes. He held her gaze for a moment and at her nod, he stepped forward swiftly. As the knelt man looked up, puzzled, Jorah’s sword already rested on his jugular. His eyes widened as he looked from Jorah to Daenerys.

“ _Mhysa?_ _issi ao jāre naejot ossēnagon nyke_ (are you going to kill me)?”

Daenerys looked into his eyes but in the little moonlight that filtered into the gate from behind her, she could not see very well, “ _iā muña gaomas daor nārhēdegon zirȳla riñar yn ziry bodmagho zirȳ, lo pōnta nārhēdegon_ (a mother does not abandon her children but she teaches them, if they forget),” she told him

“ _bisy gōntan daor nārhēdegon, Mhysa_ (this one did not forget),” he whispered reverently.

“ _urnēptre nyke_ (prove it),” she demanded.

He looked straight at her as he said, “ _dyni kosti sagon, īlon gīmigon īlva drēje dāria se īlon gīmigon īlva Mhysa_ (beasts we may be, we know our true Queen and we remember our mother),” the words of the Brazen Beast. This man was part of the Brazen Beast but that did not prove him loyal.

Daenerys knew but she could hear the soldiers nearby and they could not waste any more time here. She nodded to Jorah. He slowly removed his sword but kept it in his hand, seeing and recognising the caution in her eyes.

“ _bisy iksis kesīr naejot maghagon ao naejot Skahaz_ (this one is here to bring you to Skahaz),” he said to her.

She nodded stiffly and he rose. He glanced tentatively to the men around her and nodded, turning and quickly shuffling into the dark passageway.

Letting him lead the way, Jorah nodded to a Kingsguard and the knight followed him. After him, Jorah’s hand resumed its place on her elbow. Beside her, Varys walked quietly. The two remaining Kingsguard brought up the rear.

The man led them through the dungeons and as they rose the steps and exited, they quickly turned into a narrow passageway before coming to a pyramid. The soldiers at the entrance barred their entry with their spears but the man stepped closer and Daenerys glimpsed something shiny catch the firelight of the torch being exchanged between them. The soldiers nodded and removed their spears.

They quickly shuffled past and into the pyramid. He did not stop till they came to the great hall of the pyramid. In the middle of the hall, stood a familiar man; large and muscular. His head was shaved and so, bald but for a stubble. He turned as they entered and Daenerys saw that, unlike with Jorah, the years did little to him, less than what the rebels did. One of his small eyes with heavy bags beneath them was blackened and swollen. His big nose was also evidently broken. There were a large partially healed gash over his cheek.

He bowed to her, “the Queen of Meereen returns,”

Daenerys eased herself from Jorah’s gentle hold and stepped forward. She could practically feel objection radiate from him as he tensed but Jorah did not make to stop her or speak her against approaching, “Skahaz,” she said, nodding to him in greeting, “not much a Queen now, when another resides in the ruling pyramid,”

His face visibly darkened as the rebels were brought up, “the Brazen Beasts are with you, my Queen,” he said gruffly, “we will root the rebels and their family from the pyramid and put up their roasted bodies on pikes on the gates,”

Daenerys inclined her chin, a noncommittal response. She did not forget that her way and Skahaz’s had been at odds more than once before. Instead, she asked, “tell me of House Ghazaq. The name is…unfamiliar…”

Skahaz snorted and spat, “House Ghazaq was long gone. Lazeo, claiming to be the son of the previous head of house, looked nothing like a meereeneese! A pretender,” he exclaimed, “but of course, it did not take much for the Sons of the Harpy and those other Houses who supported slavery, to flock to his aid when he rose,” he snarled, “the Brazen Beasts are all ready for the attack on the pyramid,”

Daenerys turned to him, surprised, “who ordered you to prepare for an attack?”

Skahaz paused, “no one,” he replied, “but I assumed our Queen has returned to aid us in taking the city back from the rebels; by burning the pyramid and the people in it-“

“There are innocent people, children in that pyramid and hostages who are loyal to me, I will not burn them,” Daenerys replied.

He snorted and she felt a familiar fire begin to fill her at his blatant insolence, “this is not a time to be soft-“

“You will call the Brazen Beast back, now,” she took a step towards him. He towered over her easily, as most men did, but he flinched under her glare nonetheless.

“You are making a mistake,” he said, “the time to strike is now, when they would not expect it-“

A thundering crash came to the great hall and they all snapped their head towards the door but there was nothing. Instead, sounds of steel clashing resounded through the closed doors.

Daenerys met Jorah’s eyes and then Varys’, the latter utterly confused. The former stepped towards her, “Khaleesi, you have to leave,” he said in an undertone, seemingly calm but Daenerys could see the panic in his eyes.

She nodded to him and then turned to Skahaz, glaring, “did you betray me?” she demanded. At her words, the Kingsguards turned to him, their longswords still drawn.

Skahaz frowned before he returned her glare with that of his own and he spat at her feet, “you betrayed Meereen when you _left_ , you betrayed your children; those who are still stupid enough to call you Mhysa. But I, Skahaz zo Kandaq, am not a traitor,”

Daenerys stared at him. The ring from the clash of steels was getting louder.

“Go by the dungeons, there is an escape there,” he said to her as he took his whip in hand and a dagger in the other.

Daenerys shook her head, “we’ll go to the top of the pyramid,”

He seemed to understand what she meant. Mother of Dragons. He nodded.

“Khaleesi, we must go,” Jorah said. Daenerys held Skahaz’s gaze a moment longer before she nodded to Jorah and they proceeded towards the stairwell. Behind her, she could hear Skahaz bark orders to his men. As she rose the steps quickly, she heard the door of the great hall burst open and the cries of men filled the room.

They ran all the way up and burst into the room at the top of the pyramid. _Drogon. Drogon!_

Jorah led the way, his longsword before him. He led her to the balcony. As he opened the door, a distant roar was heard. Behind them, they could hear men approaching. _How could they know I am here? Did they see Drogon approaching? Did one of the men we met along the way betray me? Did one of my men betray me?_

Jorah stepped around her, facing the door, and held his longsword before him. Varys stood by her side. She turned to him, “did you know they would come?” Varys turned to her, frowning in confusion, “did you advise me to come to Meereen to be killed?”

His eyes filled with realisation and his frown deepened but he did not reply her.

The fire rose inside her, hot and untameable, “answer me!” she snapped.

“If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead,” he replied simply. She glared at him and was about to reply when a familiar screech was heard and the Pyramid shook. Daenerys turned to the balcony as the doors burst open. Men flooded into the room. Soldiers. Daenerys glimpsed their leather armour and spears. The three Kingsguards and Jorah, forming a line before her with their backs to the balcony, met the soldiers; swords clashing with spears.

“Drogon!” Daenerys stepped out into the balcony and looked up over the roof. Drogon stood perched on the top of the pyramid. He purred when he saw her, lowering his wing to her. She took a step to Drogon but paused then, looking at her sworn shields. One Kingsguard, she did not even know who for three of them wore their full helm, was cut down with three spears shoved into his back and one into his leg. She watched Jorah parry a spear away and kicked a soldier in the chest ferociously, breaking all the bones in his chest.

His eyes shot up and met hers, “Khaleesi! Go!” Jorah shouted. He slashed at an approaching soldier and held another at bay with his arm grasping the spear.

 _Jorah_. The one who have always loved her, after only her brother when they were younger, and before even Jon. One last glance at her Bear, she turned and stepped onto Drogon’s wing, making her way onto his back.

She turned to Varys then, expecting him to climb onto Drogon’s back. But he hesitated, watching her. _Did he betray them? Would he stab her in the back if she allowed him on Drogon-_

Another Kingsguard fell, crying out in pain as a spear was drove into the eye slit of his helmet. Then without warning, a soldier rose behind Varys. A warning cry bubble in Daenerys’ throat and she opened her mouth but it was too late. The bloodied edge of the spears protruded from the chest of the Spider before a sound could leave Daenerys.

Varys looked down, his eyes wide in shock but he did not cry out in pain. He looked up then and said to her, strangely calm, “fly away, my Queen,” she turned and Drogon screeched, launching them off the edge of the balcony.

She turned back to see Varys sink to his knees as the soldier withdrew his spear. She glimpsed the last Kingsguard fall, overwhelmed by the numbers. Ser Jorah, however, still fought, now backed into the balcony. She guided Drogon to turn back around and allowed her rage to sink and settle in the pit of her stomach, like the fire in her children. _Dracarys._ Drogon flew low over the stream of soldiers below entering the pyramid and his black fire consumed them as they screamed. As they rose into the air, Daenerys rode Drogon higher towards the balcony where Jorah was now backed into the corner.

For once, she could save him-

An unfamiliar, fearsome, roar filled the air in the distance.

 

**_Arya_ **

“Again!” Arya snapped as Jaehaerys’ wooden sword clattered to the ground.

“It’s not fair! Knights don’t do that!” Jaehaerys howled as he glared at her. The back of his hand was red and swollen and Arya knew, from experience, it would bruise and ache on the morrow.

“Well, I’m not a knight,” Arya shrugged.

Jaehaerys scowled, “that’s enough for today,” he said in a haughty tone, a command. There were times Jaehaerys was a sweet and innocent child and other times, there were no doubt in Arya’s mind that he was a Prince, raised to be a King.

“No it isn’t,” Arya replied simply, her wooden sword behind her back. Jaehaerys glared at her. He had turned up on time for his lesson but he had been in a bitter mood since the beginning of this lesson and Arya did not blame him. It has been a few days since Daenerys left and they have not heard from her and Tyrion had expressed his worries to her when Arya had approached him. Both of them have decided to keep this from the Prince when he asked and told him that the Queen probably have not arrived, “it’s not time yet,”

“I’m tired,” Jaehaerys snapped. His sword remained on the ground.

Without warning, Arya lunged forward swiftly and rapped him on the shoulder, hard.

Jaehaerys yelped, holding his arm as he stared at her in disbelief. _He probably hasn’t been struck like that in his life outside of practice combat._ Arya realised in hindsight. Then Arya stepped to the side and hit him again. He ducked but her wooden stick rapped him on his back, hard. He stumbled forward and glared back at her, “stop, we’re not training anymore!”

Arya, with her weapon at the ready, shot back, “one day this would not be training, Jae, and the men won’t stop simply because you command it,” she shot forward and Jaehaerys ducked again. He was fast and had good instincts; but he was not good enough, yet. She hit him over his ribs sharply and Jaehaerys staggered. As she jabbed at him, Jaehaerys rolled to the side and picked up his wooden sword, holding it ready in front of him.

In his eyes, Jon’s eyes, Arya saw Daenerys’ fire and she smiled. Jaehaerys stepped forward swiftly and attacked. She parry away his strikes easily. Jaehaerys’ movements were well-trained and fluid but he was lacking strength, which Arya knew would come as he grew older. So in the meantime, Arya had taken to teach Jaehaerys water-dancing. Jaehaerys was small, fast and by water-dancing, even with his undeveloped strength, he could still mark a large armoured opponent with holes in their weak spots; a much more useful skill for him to have at this age.

Then Jaehaerys saw an opening she had left for him intentionally and he thrusted his sword at her. But he was too slowly for her liking and too obvious, so Arya deflected his blow and spun to the side. Jaehaerys’ momentum threw him off balance and he stumbled to the ground heavily.

Arya turned, worried that this time he could be badly injured but when she turned to him, Jaehaerys was already on his feet, his sword held at the ready in front of him. On his face, she saw no sign of pain or fear, only an eager courage. She smiled, “good, little white wolf,” the edge of Jaehaerys’ lips twitched, “very good,”

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence/ abuse

**_Daenerys_ **

She turned towards the roar in disbelief.

In a distance, she saw it. A dragon approaching, fast. In the moonlight its scales were dark, almost black like Drogon.

Drogon screeched then and Daenerys shook out of her incredulity. She flew Drogon higher to match the height of the approaching dragon.

The dragon roared as it approached. _How could it be? Were there dragons all this while? How could we be so blind to this? A threat on the far side of the world where I once was? Jaehaerys’ egg-_

Orange black fire burst forth from the dragon’s maw. _It can’t…It’s too far-_ She watched the fire stream from the dragon. Her eyes widened as it did not fall short of them, its target, as she had expected. As it neared, Daenerys quickly urged Drogon down. He tucked his wings and they dropped from the skies. The flames skimmed over Drogon’s tail and Daenerys could feel the intense heat of it behind her. The dragon behind her screeched and followed them.

It was smaller than Drogon, younger as well. But it was faster and from its previous demonstration, could breathe fire across incredible distances that neither Drogon nor Rhaegal could achieve.

_Keligon._

Drogon’s wings snapped open and he swooped back into the skies, his belly just skimming over the shorter pyramids. She led him in a series of twists and turns around the pyramids and behind them, the dragon followed. She glanced back but could not see if the dragon had a rider, the place on its back always concealed by the dragon’s head.

_No more running._

Daenerys guided Drogon around a particularly large pyramid. Drogon whirled around abruptly as they had trained for the Great War. _Dracarys._

Black fire streamed from Drogon and into the face of the approaching dragon. The dragon flew up in an attempt to duck the flames. _Wrong._ Daenerys heard the dragon screech in pain and surprise, the flames skimming and presumably scorching its underbelly faster than it could ascend. But the dragon stayed on its path, flying upwards. This dragon was young; younger than Drogon and so its flames were not as hot, its scales not as thick, hard or impermeable to a fire as hot as Drogon’s.

 _tolī ziry_ (chase)

With one flap of its wings, Drogon shot up into the air. From behind them, Daenerys glimpsed a rider on its back. The rider had long dark hair and from her small frame, looked female but Daenerys could not be sure. The rider turned to glance back at her before her dragon picked up speed.

_Why is she running-_

Suddenly a burst of yellow flames streamed into Drogon’s side, scalding his wings and Drogon screech of pain was deafening. _Drōgon!_ Daenerys’ heart thudded in worry amidst the pain she felt from him. Beneath her, Drogon roared angrily and banked away from the fire. Daenerys turned to see Drogon’s right leathery wing almost a charred ruin around the edges but as Drogon flapped his wings to stay in the air, it was evidently still functional.

She turned to see a milk coloured, almost golden, dragon fast approaching. It opened its jaws and Daenerys urged Drogon higher into the sky. Her breath caught as Drogon heaved with great effort, they rose into the skies with yellow flames streaming through empty air beneath them. Underneath them, the golden dragon flew after them.

_Dracarys._

Drogon whirled around sharply so his nose was towards the ground, and black fire poured down to meet yellow. The flames meet in the middle. Daenerys guided Drogon lower, slowly and underneath them, it was evident the golden dragon was struggling. A screech escaped it and it dipped its head in the effort of sustaining the flame as long as an older dragon like Drogon. Then over its dipped head, Daenerys glimpsed its rider.

With the yellow flames lighting his face, Daenerys could see his long straight black hair. He had a set of defined cheekbones and strong jawline. He was evidently a good looking man and he looked familiar, a face Daenerys felt she knew but could not place at the moment. He was clean shaven and his face had a sheen of sweat from the heat of the fire. He looked at her then with dark angry eyes.

As Drogon descended over the golden dragon and its rider, the golden dragon’s fire ceased unwittingly as the dragon could sustain its fire no longer. Drogon’s black flames engulfed the golden dragon’s head and it roared in pain. She heard the rider shout something. Then Daenerys heard the beat of wings from behind them. She turned to see a dark shadow duck down behind them and she felt agonising pain from Drogon that blotted out her vision for a moment. Drogon’s screech of pain wrenched at her heart.

Then they were falling.

Underneath them, the golden dragon flailed aimlessly, its snout and jaw badly burnt. It was blinded, its eyes melted in its sockets, from Drogon’s flames. The rider shouted something to the golden dragon but before they could act, Drogon, falling over them and faster, clasped his jaw over the neck of the golden dragon. The golden dragon roared and they plummeted to the ground.

Drogon flailed in pain but he did not release the golden dragon. Daenerys held on firmly to Drogon, glimpsing the dark dragon as Drogon twisted in the air, falling back first. Then Daenerys saw the source of Drogon’s pain; the dark dragon had its large jaw of sharp teeth around Drogon’s leg. Beating his wings to remain in the air, the dark dragon tore a large chunk of Drogon’s leg off. Daenerys screamed as black steaming blood spurted from Drogon. With that, the dark dragon broke off from them, still in the air.

_We are still falling._

Daenerys only realised when Drogon wheezed, struggling to right himself in the air with the golden dragon, flailing, still in his jaw. _Sōvegon._ She thought but as if she was the one to fly, she knew she could not; they could not. She clung onto his spikes firmly, glimpsing and feeling his injured and weakened right wing that could not unfurl against the strong and relentless winds.

Then suddenly, they slowed as the golden dragon righted itself and flapped its grey wings. But they were still approaching land, too fast to land unscathed. Drogon struggled and lost grip on the golden dragon then and Daenerys glimpsed the golden dragon sail through the air uncontrollably. But before she could witness it hit the ground, they collided with something hard and she was jolted, almost losing her grip on Drogon. She cried out as her leg exploded with pain. Drogon roared and she heard stones tumble and crack loudly as they slowed.

They were on the side of the pyramid, Drogon’s claws on his forelegs had dug a deep trail over the side of the pyramid, slowing their fall.

Drogon was trembling terribly under her and with a wheeze and loud screech, they slid the rest of the way. Drogon settled on the ground in a boneless mass under her as they settled, the dust around them choking her.

“ _Drōgon_!” she cried, her voice wavering. _No, my child._ She made to dismount but her leg flared in pain and she tumbled from Drogon. She landed heavily beside him and Drogon let out a low grunt, a rumble from his massive body beside her. He shifted his wing over her and she was plunged into darkness, “ _Drōgon…_ ” she gritted her teeth against the pain in her leg and stood unsteadily. Blindly grasping at the spikes of his body for balance, she limped to his head.

His eyes were closed and his jaw, coated with blood, ajar, boneless against the ground; like Viserion’s had been, against the ice before he sank into the water.

“ _Drōgon_ ,” she whispered, placing her hands on his snout. Drogon was warm against her palm. At the sound of his name, an eye half opened slowly and she looked into his dark red eye; it was like looking into lava. Drogon purred and smoke rose from his nostrils. She smiled and pressed herself to his snout. She watched his eye shift, following her, “are you hurt?” she glanced over him, knowing he was. She glanced over his wing to see the flesh of his forearm and the edges charred but his wing was still intact. Around his midsection, steaming black blood was pooling around his body, “my poor sweet child,” she whispered.

Then suddenly, Drogon rose quickly, screeching deafeningly. A spear protruded from his neck. Anger filled her and she saw red as she turned to the rows of approaching soldiers wielding spears and shields. As some pulled back to toss their spears at Drogon, Drogon reared back his head and black fire streamed from him. The men screamed as they burned and the smell of burning flesh filled the night air. Their screams died down the moment it began.

Drogon rose but his injured leg collapsed beneath his weight and his hind dropped to the ground, making the ground tremble. He planted his forearm between her and the soldiers just as a spear embedded into his wing when it would have hit her. Drogon roared and fire poured from his jaw. She glimpsed him burning a row of soldiers in front of them. They barely struggled for a moment before dropping to the ground, dead.

She turned and made to mount Drogon. Drogon was in no condition to fly and Daenerys did not think he could, his leg unable to even bear his own weight much less launch them into the air. But if they wanted to have a chance to live, they would have to try. As she stepped on a spike at his side, the pain in her leg was unbearable and she fell back to the ground. 

Then she heard beats of wings above her and suddenly, Drogon collapsed flushed against the ground. He screeched and flailed. His wing shifted and Daenerys found herself looking up at the dark dragon. It was perched atop Drogon, one leg on the back of his neck, another on his back. It lowered its head over Drogon’s neck as it growled warningly, baring rows of black sharp teeth. On its back, its rider gazed at her with empty eyes.

“Daenerys Targaryen, surrender or you and your dragon will die,” she turned. The rider of the golden dragon approached, atop a horse and flanked with soldiers.

“Who are you?” she stiffened. Beside her, Drogon growled and struggled against the dark dragon. Within his jaws, black fire streaked with red threatened to burst forth.

“Command your dragon to stop his attack or we will be forced to kill him,” the rider said. _Common tongue spoken with a southern accent and a handsome, almost familiar, face._ _Who are you?_

Daenerys glanced over the soldiers, all wielding spears ready to be thrown at Drogon and her. Then she glanced to the dark dragon. It was smaller than Drogon and younger but still significantly large to keep Drogon from rising with his wounds. Within its jaw with its bared teeth, Daenerys glimpsed the orange black flames that threatened to be released over the back of Drogon. At such close proximity and a potential for prolonged exposure, Drogon could be badly burned.

 _Drōgon, keligon_ (stop).

Drogon’s growling ceased but his eyes darted over the soldiers angrily.

“Mother of dragons indeed,” she glared at the rider, “with the art of dragon taming lost, most could only dream to have that level of control over our own mounts,” when she did not reply, the small smile faded from his face and he said sharply, “come and stand before me,”

“Make me,” she replied flatly.

He narrowed his eyes then, “well, if I do that… I’m afraid the men I send for you won’t make it out alive,” she stared at him, “don’t make me do what I don’t want to,” his eyes darted to the rider of the dark dragon atop Drogon. The dark dragon growled and Daenerys glanced to Drogon. He still had his forearm and wing between her and the men, protecting her.

Slowly, she limped from Drogon and he shifted to allow her, a soft screech escaped his throat in objection but she made her slow determined way away from him. As she went out of Drogon’s reach, the soldiers jumped into action. Two men grabbed her roughly around her arm and shoved her forward. Her leg burned and she stumbled forward to the ground.

Behind her, Drogon roared and a stream of black fire left his mouth towards the soldiers before him. They screamed as they were set alight. _Daor!_ Atop him, the dark dragon dug its claws into Drogon’s back, making him bleed. Drogon thrashed as Daenerys did against the soldiers.

“Bring her,” the man gestured and turned his horse around. The soldiers yanked her forward roughly and she stumbled along, “chain the dragon, if he tries to escape, kill him,” _no normal chain can hope to hold my Drogon now. It will have to be magic or it is useless._

 _Drōgon, umbagon_ (stay).

She stumbled along, behind his horse. Her leg burned with every step but she refused to be carried or worse, dragged. Soon, she realised they were going to the pyramid where she had once resided, the biggest one. As they approached, she glimpsed the golden dragon. It was limp on the ground with its head at an unnatural angle; dead. Its face was blackened to a crisp, burned by Drogon’s fire, its eyes melted. But it was still alive from the burn as they saw earlier. The fall has killed it. Around the golden dragon, soldiers were fastening chains around the body, presumably to transport it away.

“Keep up!” the soldier escorting her grunted and shoved her forward. Pain shot through her body and she almost fell to the ground but managed to stay on her feet. She staggered forward.

She averted her eyes as the soldiers started hacking at the dragon’s body viciously. The rider before her, now atop a horse, barely spared his dead dragon a glance. _This man. He does not care for his dragon. He does not deserve to ride one._ Glaring at the back of the man atop the horse, she let her rage fill her, dulling the pain enough for her to limp forward.

But Daenerys knew, the fact that he could ride one was telling that this man was no ordinary man. Somewhere in his veins, he had dragons’ blood; like her. Then it came to her. His familiar, handsome face. He was familiar because he reminded her of Viserys and reminded her of her own face. He had Valyrian features. He was her kin. But how could it be that she had kin beyond Jon and Jaehaerys?

When they entered the pyramid, Daenerys had expected him to throw her into the dungeon but he did not. The soldiers escorted her away at a gesture from him and brought her to the stairs. She took the steps one at a time but on the fourth step, her knees buckled under the burning pain and the soldiers all but dragged her up the stairs. They came to a door and they opened it before shoving her in. She fell heavily to the ground on her hands and knees and the door slammed shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.

 

**_Jon_ **

He did not know much about the Dornish but he did not think them cowards. As the Crown’s army marched on the hold of their bannermen, the Dornish Army has made a token effort to defend before they retreated when their loss was eminent. At Nightsong, Kingsgrave, Skyreach, Sandstone and now Hellholt, they ran and Jon let them. It made no matter to him anyhow. It would only be a matter of time before everything ended at Sunspear.

Jon watched as his men collected their dead. War always brings death; no matter who won, no matter how little, lives were lost. Overhead, Rhaegal screeched uneasily and Jon looked up to see the green dragon soaring through the air. The sky was blue as far as Jon could see and there was not a sign of any clouds. Jon wondered if Rhaegal’s uneasiness stemmed from his own.

They were in unfamiliar territory; the desert in which the heat was relentless. _Maybe this was the Dornish plan all along,_ Jon thought, _to bring us to the desert before they ambush our army_. But Jon knew that was a dumb plan the moment he thought it. Rhaegal would see them approaching for miles. _Or if they mean to starve us and deplete our supplies by retreating._ But Jon had also considered that in the war council and had arranged for a constant and bountiful supply of food and water for the army from the capital.

“Your Grace,” Jon turned to see a soldier running towards him.

“Slowly lad,” Jon said and the soldier caught his breath before him for a moment.

He then straightened and bowed hurriedly in greeting, “a raven from King’s Landing, your Grace,” Jon took the note from him and glanced at seal. It was Tyrion’s seal; the Hand of the King and Queen.

“Thank you,” Jon dismissed the soldier and broke the seal quickly.

He had not received word from Tyrion yet and Jon knew for Tyrion to send word, it must be something important. Jon was not a religious man but as he unfurled the note, he found himself praying to the Old Gods and the New. If anything were to happen to Daenerys and Jaehaerys while he left for a War that started for him, he could never forgive himself.

_A rebellion in Meereen. Her Grace has left on the back of Drogon, accompanied by Jorah, Varys and 3 Kingsguard, to secure Meereen once more-_

The blood in Jon’s vein froze.

 _Daenerys_. _No._

She went off to a war of her own.

_Please, no._

 “Your Grace?” Jon looked up to see Gendry approaching.

“Gendry,” _just who I needed to see_ , “I’m leaving-“

“What?” Gendry blinked.

“I’m leaving you in-charge of the army and with the rest of this War,” Jon said hurriedly as he turned towards the open area. _Rhaegal!_ “Just keep on their tail and stick with the plan we talked about,”

A screech answered his call. Gendry walked after him, glancing up nervously at the approaching dragon.

“Wait, what is going on?” Gendry demanded, grabbing him around his arm and pulling him to halt.

Jon glanced at the soldiers who had looked up from dragging bodies onto carts. They instantly looked away, when they caught Jon noticing them, and resumed their work, “Daenerys,” Jon said in an undertone, “she needs my help,”

“What?” Gendry frowned but Jon had already turned away, shoving the note at him. Gendry followed, looking down and reading it. He had started to learn to read as he became Lord of Storms End and learned quickly but he was still slower than Jon preferred at this moment, “so you’re going to Me-Meeren?”

“Meereen,” Jon nodded. Rhaegal landed heavily, hastily, and it suddenly made sense to Jon. Rhaegal had sensed that his Mother was in danger and had been unsettled by it. Panic clawed at Jon’s insides, threatening to have him throw up at the thought of her in harm’s way, again.

“Jon wait, but Tyrion already stated here that he will inform you ‘if word comes from Her Grace that she requires assistance’ and ‘advise you stay focussed on the fight against Dorne’,” Gendry said quickly, reading from the note.

Jon turned. He had not read that part but it did nothing to change his mind, “ _if word comes_ ,” Jon snapped, “how would she send word if she is in danger?”

Gendry blinked but as Jon turned from him, he grabbed at his arm again, “but-“

“I _am_ going to her,” Jon growled, “don’t try to stop me,” he shook Gendry off roughly. Rhaegal purred and lowered his snout to Jon as Jon approached. Jon patted Rhaegal’s snout in brief greeting before stepping over to mount him. Rhaegal did not seem to mind that Jon had not engaged him as he usually did before he mounted him. He understood they needed to hurry; his Mother needed them now.

“Jon,” Gendry said and Jon turned, ready to argue but Gendry looked resigned, “good fortune to you, brother,”

Jon nodded stiffly, “and to you, brother,”

“If the Queen is in any trouble, you’ll need an army if you’re going to save her,” Gendry said, “she didn’t go with one,” _Daenerys probably decided to depend on the people there to rally to her side_. _If she failed, the people has not done as she thought,_ “take some of our men,” Gendry urged.

“There is no time for our men to sail across the Narrow Sea,” Jon replied anxiously. As he thought, something came to him; something mad. But he knew it must be done.

Gendry seemed to notice then that Jon had an idea, “what is it?” Gendry asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Jon shook his head, “I’ll think of something,” Jon prepared Rhaegal to take off. The green dragon rose to its feet, spreading its wings, “don’t lose my War, Lord Baratheon,” Jon said before Rhaegal screeched and took to the skies.

_Please, nothing can happen to you, Daenerys. How would I live then?_

 

**_Daenerys_ **

She awakened from her fitful sleep with a start. Her eyes flew open wide and she drew short sharp breaths.

 _Jon_. She had dreamt of him. He was angry and he was flying.

Daenerys had managed to limp to the corner of the room that she knew, from groping about in the dark, was almost bare of furniture. It was in that corner, facing the door, did Daenerys settle and fall asleep in.

This room had no windows but for a small slit at the top of the wall that she just only noticed. At the moment, sunlight seeped through that slit, letting her know that day has broken. She shifted and hissed as pain shot through her leg, rippling through her thighs and up to her hip. She touched her leg gingerly, gritting her teeth against the pain. It did not feel broken.

She was no stranger to broken bones, she knew how they felt like. Viserys had flew into rage one night and broke her arm. As her bone crunched, she saw the horror and fear in his eyes and he had released her immediately. That night, as he took care of her, she had her big brother back again and Daenerys remembered thinking it was the best night she has had in a long while, even if she was left with the agonizing pain of her broken arm-

Daenerys froze, hearing approaching footsteps. Then the door opened and she tensed.

It was the rider of the golden dragon. His long hair was combed back neatly. The night before, it had been dark, almost black, but now, it shone silvery gold, like hers. She was unsurprised; having recognised his Valyrian features. His face was fresh, clean shaven and washed. As he entered and approached, she was disturbed to see that his eyes were an undeniable shade of dark purple. He was tall, his shoulders muscular and broad, his stomach flat. He wore a black plain tunic with large golden medallions strung together as a belt around his waist. Over his wrists, he wore black leather vambraces. He was young; looking a few years younger than her.

He tutted as he came to a stop before her, crossing his arms, “I will have a word with my men about how they treat the Mother of Dragons,”

Daenerys stared at him.

He frowned and crouched before her, “you will answer me when I talk to you,” he lowered his voice, a warning.

“Who are you?” she asked through clenched teeth.

He paused, blinking as if surprised at the question she asked. Then he rose, “I believe you were told that I am Lazeo zo Ghazaq. You came to kill me,” he paced away from her before he turned to look at her again. _Lie._ He looked a Valyrian and evidently last night, he had his hair coloured so he could pass off as a Meereeneese; as Lazeo zo Ghazaq. _But he is not and he is not hiding it any longer_. _His ruse was for me,_ “you are a smart woman and you are thinking that I am not Lazeo zo Ghazaq,” he smiled at her. She pursed her lips, her face an expressionless mask of a Queen.

_Could it be her brother’s son? The other son he had with Elia Martell? He was supposedly murdered as a babe but his body had been mutilated beyond recognition-_

“I’m Daemon,” he said, peering at her, as if gauging her reaction, “Daemon Blackfyre,”

 _No_. _It is impossible. The Blackfyres are-_

“The world thought we were extinct. Even the citadel thought so,” Daemon said, “but here we are,” he looked at her, expectant of a reply but she merely stared at him blankly. She glimpsed a flash of rage cross his face, not unlike how Viserys looked before he struck her. Predictably, Daemon Blackfyre took a step to her and starburst appeared across her vision. She felt her head collide into the wall beside her as her head snapped to the side from the impact, “answer me!” he shouted.

Pain exploded across her face and her head spun from the impact. She blinked before she looked up at him, glaring, “how is that possible?” she hissed softly, feeling hot liquid pour down the side of her head.

A smile spread across his handsome face when she spoke, “Maelys the Monstrous,” he said reverently before his dark purple eyes fell on her, “you have heard of him, haven’t you?” he asked. When met with only silence and a defiant glare, he advanced on her again and Daenerys nodded stiffly. _There was no point in angering him now and suffering his beating. He will be angered when he needs to be_. He paused and a small smile came upon his lips, satisfied at her response, “my grandfather,”

When Maelys Blackfyre was slayed by Barristan Selmy in Blackfyre rebellion, he was the last, or so people thought, with the end of the male line of House Blackfyre. No one thought the daughters would rise up. _How naïve they all were; and I, the naivest of all, a daughter who rose from the ashes and reclaimed her father’s throne but thought another could not or would not._

“You want the throne,” she stated.

“Yes,” he replied, “the Targaryens are weak, have been weak for many years, even before Robert Baratheon, and mad. You don’t deserve to rule,” he leaned over her, sneering. Daenerys stared blankly at him. He was trying to anger her, she knew, but his words could not hurt her; they mattered little to her. What could his words do to her already battered soul?

“How did you know I was here?” she asked quietly.

“Because I brought you here,” Daemon replied simply, as if she should already know, “Qyburn. That man’s thirst for vengeance is… unrivalled. He slowly rooted out all the Spider’s little birds here one by one. Your Master of Whisperers have been whispering to you what I want to be whispered to you,” Daenerys tensed. She wasn’t betrayed, she was fooled, they all were. But that fact was little comfort to her now.

“Skahaz-“

“Oh I knew when he swore me his sword it was a lie but the Spider was looking for someone here loyal to you, someone useful and someone you could trust, so it would be safe for you to come. Skahaz is very useful in that regard,” Daemon smiled, “him and of course, the Spider,”

“You want me here to kill me and take the throne,”

“Yes,” he smirked, “the plan was to kill you and I am to ride your dragon. The people call him Balerion the Dread reborn; the people do not exaggerate. And as I have seen, it is the only dragon suitable for the Black Dragon to mount,” _Black Dragon_. It was what the people called Daemon I Blackfyre, the first of the Blackfyre rebel; his namesake. And if the rumours were true, the Daemon Blackfyre before her had an uncanny resemblance to the first Daemon I Blackfyre; a bastard of a Targaryen.

His eyes were glazed over with a glint in them, “so… what are you waiting for?” she challenged him on when he did not continue.

His deep purple eyes fell on her then and a smile made them crinkle around the edges and for a moment, he looked almost kind. There was an undeniable charm about him, “that is my Mother’s plan, you see. Kill you and I’m to marry my sister, to keep the bloodline pure, to ensure we would have the blood of the dragon in our veins for generations to come,” he clasped his hands before him, gazing at her intently, “but she’s an ugly thing and if not for her ability to claim a dragon, I would doubt if she even has a trace of dragon’s blood in her,”

Daenerys paused and her body tensed, as if sensing danger before her head could comprehend what he was implying.

“But you,” his eyes ran over her hair and face eagerly, “you are the very image of the Blood of Old Valyria,” he crouched before her then, raising a hand to her face, “such a beauty. And the blood of the dragon so potent in your veins. Untainted,” she withdrew from him as much as she could as he ran the back of his index finger gently along the side of her face, “I will be King and you will be my Queen. You will bear my children who will ride dragons and the dragonlords, the _true_ dragonlords, will rule again for dynasties to come,”

She seethed and pushing away his touch, she slapped him soundly.

His head snapped from the impact with shock evident on his features. Daenerys tensed then, ready for the returning blow. But instead, he slowly turned back to look at her. His purple eyes darkened then and a smirk slowly spread over his lips. He lunged forward and grabbed her jaw, rough enough to bruise, in his large hand, “look at you, truly the dragon’s daughter. And now, a dragon in your own right,” he breathed. His breath was hot on her face. She attempted to twist from his grasp but his hand was strong and unyielding.

Without warning, his other hand curled into a fist and he punched her in her middle, hard. All the air left her lungs from that one vicious blow and Daenerys could not breathe for a long moment and it left her gasping for air but to no avail. He released her and rose. She curled forward, holding her middle, biting her lips with the effort not to groan or let out even a whimper of pain.

“The bastard, the one you claim as a husband and made a King,” he said as she finally managed to draw a shallow shaky breath. From that simple movement, her middle flared, “you bring disgrace to our blood by doing that,” he hissed, “he stinks of Northern dogs,” rage turned her vision red and she tried to straighten to glare at him but her stomach exploded with pain and she sagged against the ground again. Daemon continued, ignoring her, “but I suppose I have to give him some credit, for turning the Martells against us, however he did it,”

Daenerys managed to prop herself up on shaky arms. _Arianne Martell._

“Dornish snakes,” Daemon sighed, “you could never fully trust them,” he crouched before her then and she stiffened, “she was supposed to kill both of you quietly; or in her own words, remove the head, the foundation of the rule. That was the agreement. But she stopped sending word for a time then word from our spies came that she had her own plan to seat herself as Queen. No doubt, she thought once she was Queen, she could warn her King about us and hope to defeat us and be hailed as the hero who saved Westeros from the Blackfyre,” Daemon spat.

Then suddenly, he laughed.

“Dumb bitch,” he leaned closer to her, “but as stupid as she was, she managed to poison you, did she not? But she doesn’t know, she doesn’t understand _our_ magic; lurking in the blood of the dragon. We are not so easy to kill,” he smirked and Daenerys felt the reminder straight in her heart. _But she did kill a dragon, the one I was carrying, my little dragon-_ “at least in her death she chose to do something for our cause, for her people I suppose, to redeem herself from her betrayal. It is for that, I just might spare Dorne when I come onto my throne. She tore you from that Northern bastard, with her schemes and her words, and you both are stupid enough to let her,” he hissed, “she is good at it, I’ll admit that. Vipers, smart and cunning,”

She froze, Jon’s words coming to her. _She killed our daughter because of me. It is my mistake, Daenerys._ She could still see the pain and guilt that wracked through him as he told her. He was so ashamed he had not even come to her and had gone to war all to right ‘his’ wrong. And she had stupidly let him because of the hurt his admission, Arianne Martell’s lie, had caused her.

 _We should have stayed together. We always knew we were stronger together._ Daenerys hunched over, struggling to rise. Then suddenly, she felt his face, warm, up against the side of hers. She withdrew, sitting back. She hissed as pain flooded her body from that small movement. She leaned against the wall, glaring at him.

He raised a well sculptured brow at her. A moment passed before he lunged forward. She pressed herself back but she felt his hand fist her hair and pulled her head back roughly, “you are mine, do you hear me? You are here now and you will be as I want you to and I want you to be a wife to me. If you do that, you would be my Queen,” he whispered, his hand tightening, threatening to tear her hair from its roots. Regardless, she struggled, “or, you will die and I will mount your dragon. With it, I will burn your Northern dog, the little bastard you have with him and all of the North,”

A fire sparked and consumed her at his words. He threatened her blood, her pack. In the background then, a roar, _Drogon’s roar,_ was heard. Daemon looked up, puzzled and some fear crossed his eyes. Twisting out of his grasp, she punched him in the jaw before she dug her nails into his face, clawing at his eyes. He cried out angrily and shoved her back hard. The back of her head collided into the wall behind her. She glared, watching as he stumbled back, his hand touching her face gingerly. When he removed his hand, Daenerys saw two long deep bloody scratches over his eye but his eye seemed unharmed. _Pity_.

He looked at her then and Daenerys knew, in Viserys’ words, she has truly woken the dragon. He closed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed her hair. Dragging her to her feet, he punched her in her middle twice before he let her sink the ground. White hot pain, worse than the last one, flooded into her middle, starburst from it blinding her momentarily. Her body reeled from the agony as he released her and she caught herself on her hands and knees. She could not feel her body beyond the pain, “I will have you cleaned and tonight, I will take you. You will be mine and you will give me a son. If you do, all will be forgotten. If not, I will have you killed, then your King and your bastard son,” he stated before he made to turn to leave.

“ _No_ ,” she seethed.

Daemon’s footsteps stilled and he turned back to her slowly, “what did you say?” his voice was low, dangerous.

“I said,” she lifted her head and glared at him, meeting his eye, “ _no_ ,”

He approached and she saw him pull back his large hand before he backhanded her across the face. She collapsed to the ground, tasting blood filling her mouth rapidly. He crouched before her and his finger came to her chin. She withdrew but found she could not, immobilised by the pain that was her own body. He touched her split lip roughly, staining his finger with her blood, “By Blood and Fire, I _will_ have you tonight,” he brought his bloodied finger to his lips and let it rest on his tongue. _Blood and Fire._

 _Blood first. Her blood._ His purple eyes lit up when he tasted her.

She felt bile rise in her throat. When he exited, the door slamming behind him, she retched and threw up.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Abuse/ explicit

**_Jaime_ **

“What?” he scowled. Brienne was standing there, staring at him again as he stared out the balcony.

“You’re brooding again,” Brienne said.

Jaime ignored her and gazed out beyond that horizon where the forest of the Kingswood met the sky; where he knew the Red Keep stood. Jaime wondered if his Queen was well.

They have heard that the King has departed to fight a war against Dorne, _as he should have done 4 years ago._ The Lord of Storm’s End, Gendry, has called his bannermen to march with him to assist the King in this War. Jaime had expected Brienne to go but instead, she had sent the best knight House Tarth have to offer and stayed at Evenfall Hall.

When Jaime had appeared at her doorstep, he had expected her to send him back, to be properly punished by the King but instead, she listened to his side of the story and allowed him to stay as long as he needed. She believed him; she believed that he did not poison the Queen and it was a set-up by Arianne Martell.

At the thought of that name, he felt his only hand close into a fist on the parapet. The King had executed her himself; if the word on the road was to be believed. The people, who loved the King and Queen so, was enraged at the Princess of Dorne, cursing her name with a passion when they heard of what she did. And the day that the news of her execution reached them, the people drank and sang the Song of Ice and Fire late into the night.

Jaime had slept in one of the inns where one such celebrations occurred. As he listened to the drunken singing, all he could think of was how his Queen was faring. News of her was few and vague; only that Queen was recovering but they were unable to save the unborn princess. Jaime could only imagine how she must be feeling. He did not dare to dream that his presence would make it better for her. That always fell to the shoulders of the King, but it would have soothed his own worry to be there by her side; to ensure she was safe and well and alive.

“Word came from the capital,” Brienne spoke again from behind him, closer now. He glanced to her as she leaned against the parapet beside him. She was wearing a light cotton jerkin with pants. On her hip, she carried her sword.

“What news?” Jaime turned to her.

“A raven,”

Jaime frowned.

“From Lord Tyrion,” Brienne said.

Jaime tensed, “I have to go,” he turned. If Tyrion wrote to him here, he must know Jaime was here. And truthfully, Jaime did not expect anything less of Tyrion, his clever little brother. In fact, Jaime was surprised it took so long for Tyrion to figure it out. But now that his brother, the Hand of the King and Queen knew where he was, Jaime was not going to linger another moment and allow Brienne to be branded a traitor to the Crown for harbouring a ‘Queenslayer’. The word left a bitter taste in Jaime’s mouth.

“Wait,” Brienne’s large strong hand closed around his arm.

“I will not stay and risk having you executed-“

“He did not address it to you. He addressed it to me,” Brienne offered the note and Jaime paused, “in fact, he did not even mention you in the message,”

Jaime took it and unfurled it with the fingers of his left hand.

_The Queen has departed for Meereen to fight against a revolt, despite my counsel._

Jaime froze. The King was far south, fighting a war against the Dornish and now the Queen has gone as well, far across the Narrow Sea. Both of them had a fair reason to leave. And now, King’s Landing, the seat of the Iron Throne, stood with neither Dragons nor Monarchs.

 _There are many who want the Queen dead, Dorne is merely one of them_ _. If the King is not mine, House Targaryen would truly meet its end this time._ Arianne Martell had said. He had not thought much on it, thinking she was considering to attack with Dorne, which had neither the numbers nor the ability on their side.

Jaime paled.

“What’s wrong?” Brienne asked.

Jaime blinked, “I have to go,” he left the room, almost breaking into a run.

“What? Where? Why?” Brienne matched his pace with ease, “the Lord Hand does not know you are here-“

“He does,” Jaime said, “he has not worded it in his message nor addressed it to me but this message is meant for me. Tyrion is informing me of the Queen’s departure. And he does not know it but he needs my help,”

“Help?” Brienne yanked him to a stop, “what for?”

“To protect the Prince,” Jaime snapped.

“Against who?” Brienne frowned.

“I don’t know, maybe no one,” Jaime replied, “but the King and Queen are both gone. And I will not leave Jaehaerys unprotected,” _I have already failed my Queen once, if I have any love in my heart for my Queen, I will not fail her again. If it hasn’t already, losing her first and now only child would kill her._

“You will be killed, hanged for a traitor if you set foot in King’s Landing!” Brienne shouted as he went to the harbour, “you can’t be seen there-“

“So be it,” he said as he made to approach a small boat that was used to ferry men to and from the mainland.

“Wait,” Brienne snapped and she gestured to the page boys in the yard, “I will come with you, with my remaining men,” Jaime looked at her as she murmured instructions to the boy. He ran off to relay them and Brienne came to stand before him.

He stared at her, “if you are seen with me, you will be hanged for harbouring a traitor,”

She sighed and shrugged, “so be it,”

**_Daenerys_ **

The door clicked and she jerked to straighten from the wall. It was not yet nightfall, she could see it was still bright from the slit above the wall. A young girl entered. Behind her, two men followed. They carried in a large tub, filled with water. The young girl watched her curiously as she watched them. This girl had long dry stringy black hair. Her eyes were large and bugged unnaturally from her sockets. Her nose was small and flat, her lips too broad, too big, for her little face. Freckles covered her face and neck generously.

“I’ve been told to give you a bath,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to everywhere but her. _I will have you cleaned and tonight, I will take you. You will be mine._ Daenerys considered rejecting the bath but glancing at the two men flanking the girl, she knew her resistance, if she had the strength for it, would be in naught. She nodded stiffly and slowly got to her feet. She could not straighten her torso, her middle flaring painfully if she did. As she stood, her leg burned and her knees buckled. Daenerys expected to fall but then she felt an arm around hers.

She turned to see the girl by her side. She was stronger than she looked. The young girl glanced to the two men and they came forward. Daenerys tensed as she felt their hands on each of her arm. They helped her to the tub of water and as she clutched the edge of the tub for support, they released her.

Daenerys expected them to leave when she nodded to them, a small thanks for their help. But they only went to the door, closing it. Then they stood with their blacks to the door, their hands clasped behind their backs. Daenerys looked at the girl as she approached her. The girl was quiet as she reached over to remove her clothing. Daenerys glared at the men but it did nothing to remove their eyes from her. Daenerys has never been ashamed of her nakedness but she knew this was Daemon’s plot to rattle her and it only angered and disgusted her.

“My apologies they have to stay,” the girl muttered quietly but no less sincerely and Daenerys looked to her, surprised. The girl was not looking at her as she focused on undressing her. The girl looked up to meet her eyes and Daenerys saw that her eyes were a dark blue, like the night sky. Daenerys nodded stiffly, accepting her apology. As the girl peeled the clothes off her, Daenerys shifted her body to help but pain erupted then Daenerys gasped. The girl shot her an apologetic look as removed her pants. Daenerys looked down at herself at glimpse a dark purple bruise over her middle.

When she was fully undressed, the girl offered a hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Daenerys took it as she rose the steps and stepped into the tub. The water was ice cold to her skin but Daenerys sat in the tub quietly, her face impassive. The girl started washing her hair and when she was done, she picked up a rag and dipped it in the bathwater before she ran it over her back gently but the cloth was roughly woven and it scrapped over her skin.

The bath was quiet and tensed. Daenerys made to take the cloth from her when the girl made to wash her front but the men stepped forward and the girl gave her a warning look. Daenerys turned to glare at the guards before she sat back in the tub. She closed her eyes as the girl ran the cloth over her breasts, still tender from her pregnancy. Every ache in them tore at her heart, the only place where her daughter now existed. Daenerys watched the girl as she washed her. She was much younger than Daenerys. Daenerys wondered if she was a servant or a slave. She did not look Meereeneese, her skin was too pale for it.

Daenerys wondered if she could find a way to speak to this girl. She glanced to the men by the door. They were staring right at her and Daenerys bristled but turned back without saying a word. The girl met her eyes as she washed her bruise, an apologetic look in her eyes but Daenerys did not flinch. Instead, she met the girl’s eyes meaningfully and the girl’s eyes widened momentarily before she glanced to the men and her eyes darted down.

When they were done, the girl helped her rise from the bath and dried her off. The girl then pulled a silk dress over her. The silk glided over her skin and the girl gently adjusted the dress. Daenerys did not need to look to see the thin dress barely concealed her body. Silk slippers were slipped over her feet. Then the girl adjusted her silver-gold hair, running a brush through it. Her eyes lit up as she marvelled at Daenerys’ hair, “you are so beautiful,” the girl muttered.

Daenerys gazed at her, waiting for her deep blue eyes to meet hers before she replied, “thank you,” Daenerys replied gently, “you have beautiful eyes,” the girl smiled a small smile.

“Oy, master said no talking!” one of the men snapped gruffly. Daenerys stared at him blankly.

Then to her surprise, the girl beside her spoke, “we’re not animals and I shall speak to her as I please,” she said sharply. She had an air of haughtiness about her that should not be in servants or slaves.

The men grumbled under their breath incoherently but said no more. Daenerys then turned to look at the girl, “what is your name?”

The girl’s eyes darted to her nervously then before she looked down and focussed on brushing Daenerys’ hair.

“My name is Dany, what is yours?” Daenerys prompted again, gently.

The girl met her eyes, “Daena,”

 _Not a Meereeneese then._ Then the girl set aside the brush, admiring her silver-gold hair, that after washing and brushing, now glowed, “thank you Daena,” Daenerys said.

The girl’s eyes widened in fear and some apology at her words. But before Daenerys could think on it, Daena glanced to the slit at the top of the wall and Daenerys followed her gaze. Orange light was flooding through it. _The sun is setting._

Daenerys’ throat tightened as Daena gestured to the men, “keep the tub, I’ll escort her to the chamber,”

“We are supposed to-“

“Do as you’re told,” she snapped to the men, annoyed. Daenerys frowned as she glanced between the men and the girl. The men stared at her a moment longer before they nodded and they proceeded to carry the tub out. Daena held her arm to support her and Daenerys gazed at her as they proceeded out of the room. Daenerys glanced down the stairs where the men carried the tub but Daena tugged her in the opposite direction, to the top of the pyramid, “don’t even think about it,” Daena said softly but sharply, “you won’t make it pass the first level and even if you do, there are guards at the main entrance of the pyramid. And with what I saw at the bath, you would likely tumble down these steps without my help,”

Daenerys glared at her sharp words angrily but her glare softened when she saw that the girl’s eyes were merely honest, harbouring no ill-intentions. She kept quiet then and allowed the girl to lead her up the steps. She was getting used to the pain in her leg as she took a step, the pain in her middle as she straightened was worse but Daenerys refused to walk with her back hunched. So she took those steps with her chin up and her back straight, no matter how much it hurt her.

She knew Daena was watching her face the whole time as they walked but she made no move to start a conversation and Daenerys resolved to stay silent until she spoke. This girl was no mere servant and Daenerys would not risk exposing herself like that to someone who would likely betray her, “your dragon is fine,” Daena said softly all of a sudden.

Daenerys had not realised she has been worried until she felt a breath of relief escape her at Daena’s admission.

“Drogon, is it?” Daena asked. She nodded stiffly, “he misses you,” Daenerys pursed her lips. _Oh my sweet child, please do not give them a reason to kill you._ “Your bond with him is strong,” Daenerys did not respond but instead focussed on taking two more steps up, “did you have him since he was an egg?” Daenerys did not reply, “I’m only curious…” Daena muttered, “I could never dream to have that kind of bond with Moonlight,”

Daenerys turned to her sharply. _Could she be the other rider?_ Daenerys gazed at her intently.

Daena met her gaze and she muttered, “you may not believe and it is kind of useless for me to say this now but I’m sorry about before, when I hurt…Drogon,” _not a servant then._

“And I you,” Daenerys said, recalling how Drogon’s flames had burned and hurt the dark dragon’s underbelly.

A small smile spread over Daena’s broad thin lips, “Moonlight is healing well from the flames. Drogon’s fire is the hottest I have ever seen,” Daena marvelled, her eyes twinkling in awe.

Daenerys smiled. It was true, even among three of her children, Drogon’s fire always burned the hottest, as did his temperament. They fell silent as they came to a large wooden door that was only too familiar to Daenerys. A few years ago, these were her private quarters. Daena opened the door and led her inside. Daenerys glanced about the quarters cautiously.

“He’s not here,” Daena replied her unasked question and Daenerys did not respond, “how do you train Drogon?” Daenerys looked at her blankly, not responding, still cautious about Daena. Daenerys did not forget that she still did not know what Daena wanted, “I’m just curious how you could command him so quickly and effortlessly, how he could be so completely loyal to you,” Daenerys paused as Daena led her to the large bed and guided her to sit before she sat beside her.

Daenerys sat stiffly and looked into the girl’s deep blue eyes then. In them, Daenerys saw that this girl was honest and pure, “ _zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor_ (a dragon is not a slave),”

Daena’s eyes widened, “ _kessa, issi daor_ (yes, they are not),” _A Blackfyre. Daemon’s sister, the one he was to marry but instead, he wanted me._

“You bond with them and when that bond is strong enough, you command your dragon with your heart,” Daenerys said.

Daena looked at her in awe, “do you and Drogon share this bond?”

“As if I carried him in my own womb and fed him at my own breast,” Daenerys replied, her heart warmed as she spoke of her child. She could still remember how Drogon had clambered onto her shoulder when he hatched, how he looked at her; taking her as his mother in that first instant as she took them as her children.

“The Mother of Dragons,” Daena breathed.

Daenerys smiled, nodding, “Mother of Dragons,”

Then suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching. Panic flashed over Daena’s face as she rose quickly, “whatever happens, don’t resist it. He threatened to kill you?” Daenerys nodded, “he will, if you resist,” the footsteps were closer to the door now. Daena took her hand hurriedly and squeezed it, “your dragon is alive and my brother doesn’t know but I know, Drogon will never take a rider like my brother, not after you,” Daena glanced nervously to the door before she hissed, “if you die, your dragon dies with you,”

The door opened and Daena straightened, dropping Daenerys’ hand. They turned to see Daemon enter. At his back, four men escorted him. His silver-gold hair was combed back, not a strand out of place. His face was washed, as were the cuts on his face. Those did little to mar his attractive face. His deep purple eyes glanced at Daena, a flicker of disgust and annoyance in them, before they settled on Daenerys. She glimpsed his eyes darkened as they skimmed over her body; washed and barely covered by the silk dress.

“Why are you still here?” Daemon growled.

Daena stiffened, “I was making sure Dany had everything she need,”

Daemon narrowed his eyes at her, “Dany?” he scowled. Daena did not reply him and then he shouted, “get out!”

Daena glanced to her before she shuffled out. Daenerys watched her leave. As Daena turned to close the door behind her, her eyes met Daenerys’ and she shot her a pleading look. Daenerys’ eyes fell when the door clicked shut.

Daemon rubbed his palm together slowly, for a moment, his eyes never leaving her before he took a step to her. His entourage made to follow but he raised a hand and gestured them away. They nodded and left the room, “my sister, Daena,” he said evenly as he walked slowly to her, “what do you think of her?”

Daenerys stared blankly at him, looking right through him, “she is very kind,”

Daemon’s face darkened then, a furrow forming between his brows, “ _kind_?” he spat.

“She gave me a bath, as you commanded. It’s the kindest thing someone has done for me since I arrived,” her eyes did not leave him as she said pointedly.

His nostrils flared for a moment before he took a deep breath, as if to calm himself, “you like her,” he stated but looked at her expectantly after.

“She gave me a bath,” Daenerys replied flatly.

Daemon took another deliberate breath as he approached. When he came to her, Daenerys tensed, expecting him to strike her or push her back into bed and thrust himself inside her but instead, he sat, where Daena had sat. He glanced at the bed before he looked at her, holding her gaze. She would have mistaken the look in his eyes for sincerity if Daenerys has not already gotten to know him earlier this day.

“I was raised in exile,” he said, his purple eyes softening, “as you were, weren’t you?” Daenerys stared at him, not moved by his act but she nodded stiffly nonetheless, “so you know what it is like. To always be hiding, from place to place with nowhere to call home and no one to call family-“

“You had your family. Your mother, your sister-“

“And we know if we were discovered we will be killed,” Daemon hissed. Daenerys did not reply but she knew if the Blackfyres were discovered under her rule and they made no attempts to usurp the throne, she and Jon would likely leave them in peace than kill them. This man did not know the first thing about her, and Jon’s, rule. All Targaryens were unworthy in his eyes and her, most of all, for choosing the ‘wrong’ man for a husband and King, “so we hid, in old Valyria, hiding like rats from the stonemen. But we had our dragon eggs, passed down from our Daemon Blackfyre I and we found more. They hatched suddenly one day. They were so beautiful,”

Daenerys tensed.

“I heard it was a little different from how you hatched yours,” Daemon said, watching her for a response. Daenerys only stared at a spot on the floor but Daemon seemed unfazed and did not anger this time. He continued, his voice almost soft, “Mother said a long time ago, dragons hatched naturally, like how ours did. And now, they do again. She said it was because of you. You brought magic back into this world when you hatched your dragons; and the comet appeared,”

Daemon shifted closer. 

“I apologise for my behaviour this morning,” he said solemnly.

_Liar._

“Can you forgive me?” Daemon asked, “can _my Queen_ forgive me?”

 _No, even if you were dead. And I am not your Queen._ The words on the tip of her tongue, she hesitated.

_If you die, your dragon dies with you._

Daenerys nodded stiffly. A wide smile spread over his face then. He lifted a hand and she tensed automatically; her body still remembered the pain the very same hand inflicted, could still inflict. He paused and when she did not move away from him, his smile widened just so. He touched her bare shoulder meaningfully.

_If you die, your dragon dies with you._

His palm was smooth on her skin when she expected, hoped for, it to be rough; as it should be. _Disfigured from the burns._

Daemon’s dark purple eyes held hers. _Not grey._

He dropped from his gaze and followed the trail of his hand as he stroked her arm. She clenched her hands to fists in her lap as his hand wandered to her left breast and he cupped it gently.

_If you die, your dragon dies with you._

Then he squeezed it and pain erupted through her tender flesh. But Daenerys did not wince, her face remained the same impassive mask as she stared through him. He looked at her then, a smirk on his face. He took her hand and led her to her feet. She obliged, limping as he pulled her to stand beside the bed. Then he went to the side and fetched a candle burning low. He picked up the candle with his bare hand, unbothered by the hot wax.

Daemon smirked as he approached. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her flushed against him. She closed her eyes against the proximity as he whispered in her ear, “I promised you blood and fire,” he pulled away and she saw a glint in his eyes as he crouched before her. Gazing up at her, he placed the flame at the edge of the silk dress she wore. Quickly, the flames caught on the dress. Daemon smirked and stepped back from her. He blew out the candle as he stared at her intently, his eyes burning like the flames with an intense desire. The flames crawled up her dress greedily. She could feel the heat but as it always did, the fire licked at her skin, teasing her with its warmth but never harming her.

Soon, the last of her dress burned away and she was bare before him. Daenerys glimpsed his hardened member through his leather breeches as his hungry gaze wandered over her naked body. Her stomach turned as he approached her and Daenerys felt and resisted an impulse to step back from him. Her nails dug painfully into her palm as she willed herself to be still.

_I am the blood of the dragon._

Daemon grabbed her chin in his large hand and kissed her fiercely, roughly and her split lip, from this morning, erupted with pain. She closed her eyes and she only saw one face, a sweet, comely face that she dreamt, except this time it was no longer a shifting shadow. She knew her lover’s face as well as, if not better than, her own now; his soft grey eyes, strong jaw, his thick curly locks and his beard surrounding soft gentle lips that she desired.

But the lips on hers felt wrong. They were rough, hard and the skin surrounding those lips were smooth when they should be scratchy from a beard. As Daemon bit down on her lips hard, her wound reopened and blood gushed from it. She felt a wave of nausea come upon her when Daemon tasted her blood and moaned deeply into her mouth.

He pressed his hips to her firmly and she could feel him, hard against her abdomen.

_If you die, your dragon dies with you._

She bit back a surprise gasp as he broke the kiss and shoved her back onto the bed roughly. She fell back, her leg and middle flaring with pain. She stared at the canopy but from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him unlacing his breeches before her.

_I am the blood of the dragon._

He drew his hardened cock out, kicking away his pants. Then he roughly pulled her by her hips to the edge of the bed. Pain shot from her leg to every corner of her body from his rough grasps but Daenerys did not scream, she barely flinched.

_I am the blood of the dragon._

He flipped her over so her face was pressed to the sheets and parted her legs roughly.

_I am the blood of the dragon-_

The tip of his member brushed against her inner thigh.

_No._

“No,” she said and she scrambled away from him. But she felt his hands on her hips and he pulled her back to him with ease. As she made to turn, she felt his body pressed up against the back of hers, his weight pressing her firmly to the bed. Then he bit into her shoulder, his teeth sinking into her flesh, “no!” she shouted, pushing her elbow into his ribs with all her strength but he did not budge. His fingers dug into her hips, “NO!” she screamed.

She felt him draw back his hips, readying for a thrust; ready to tear into her. Suddenly, the door flew open and she felt his body tense behind her.

She looked up to see Daena standing at the door, her eyes sad as she pleaded, “Brother, don’t do this. We are better than this,” her voice was meek, soft.

Behind her, Daemon rose from her, taking his weight off her. Daenerys scrambled to sit, pulling the sheets around her the moment she could. Her body was trembling terribly. Daemon was glaring at his sister. His large hands were fists at his side and his broad frame was shaking in rage.

Daena looked wide eyed at her brother as he approached her, his bottom half still bare. Daena’s dark eyes glanced over to Daenerys before they settled on her brother, who towered over her. There was a fear palpable in her eyes. Then without warning, Daemon slapped her soundly across her cheek, hard. Daena reeled from the impact and fell to the floor.

Daenerys abandoned the sheets and rose from the bed. She limped to Daena as quickly as she could manage. Crouching gingerly, Daenerys placed a hand on her back and glared at Daemon. His eyes were on her naked form, gazing over her hungrily. He took a step towards them then and Daenerys rose to meet him. As he met her glare, he paused, “your eyes,” his hand came up and grabbed her chin, “there is a fire in them. Unlike my sister, who is nothing like you and not worthy of me,”

Daenerys tore her face from his grasp, successfully this time, “you’re wrong,” she told him calmly, “you are the one who is unworthy of her,”

Daemon raised his hand to her then but Daena shot to her feet and stood before her, “Brother please, she is to be your Queen!”

Daemon glared at Daena and lowered his hand. Then suddenly, he turned to the table and picked up a candle. With his other hand, he grabbed Daena by her dark and stringy hair roughly.

“Unhand her!” Daenerys snapped but he ignored her.

Then Daemon pressed the burning candle with the melted wax to Daena’s neck and she screamed in pain. Daenerys flinched before she stepped forward and snatched the candle from his hand. The skin on Daena’s neck was red and raw and covered with cooled wax, “you see,” Daemon spat, “she is unlike you and me. She claims to have the blood of the dragon but she is everything but!” he glared at his sister, her hair still firm in his hand. In his eyes, Daenerys saw that he despised his sister, he was revolted at the sight of his own sister. _What kind of monster is he?_ Daemon hissed at Daena then, “Mother must be punishing me to have me marry you-“

Daena turned and glared at him, “Mother hoped I can soothe the madness in you-“ Daemon threw her to the floor and as Daena fell heavily, he turned to the table. Daenerys watched in disbelief as he drew his sword from the scabbard, pulling his sword to stab Daena. _No. Daena; a girl so kind and smart and brave. She saved me._ Daenerys dropped the extinguished candle and came between them.

Daemon stilled his sword as he saw her, the point over her chest, “step aside,” he glared.

For a moment, she saw Viserys before her, a rage, madness in his eyes and his silver hair wild about his face as he had threatened to cut her child out of her; his own nephew, “she is your _sister_ ,” Daenerys said softly. Then in his dark purple eyes, she thought she glimpsed something. But as soon as she saw it, it disappeared behind pure rage, madness, and Daemon grabbed her with his free hand and yanked her to his side. In the same breath, he plunged his sword towards Daena.

Daenerys struggled against his grip, reaching for his sword but it was too late. Daemon buried his sword into Daena’s chest. Daena glanced down at his sword before her eyes rose to meet her brother’s, a look of disbelief in her eyes, “Brother…” she murmured. Daemon sneered at her and he removed his sword, wiping it on her shoulder.

As, Daenerys made to shake off his grip on her arm, she froze when she felt the edge of the sword on her neck, “I said I will have you tonight and I will. If you resist, I’m afraid I will have no choice but to abide by my mother’s wishes and kill you,”

 _If you die, your dragon dies with you._ He smirked as she looked vacantly at him. Daemon yanked her to the bed.

Then another’s words, her own, came to her: _zaldrīzes buzdari iksis daor._

She twisted around and her palm collided with his cheek soundly. He glared at her then and pushed her back onto the bed. He raised his sword, drawing it back to plunge it into her middle. One thought came to her; one name. _Jon._

The door burst open.

They both turned to see a man from his entourage enter and bow hurriedly, his eyes darting nervously between Daemon and her, “Dothraki, your Grace. They are attacking the city-“ Daenerys turned at the mention of them and she felt hope bloom in her chest. _Have they come for her? How-_

Daemon snarled in frustration, “well, just close the gates and keep them out-“

“They are _in_ the city and sacking it as we speak, your Grace,” the man said. Then he hesitated, glancing at her, “a dragon destroyed our gates for them to enter,”

Daemon was stunned.

Then a loud familiar roar was heard and it was as if the very pyramid they were in shook. And with the roar, the call, her heart lifted and sang; _Rhaegal._

Then there was an answering roar, voicing a reply of her own. _Drogon. He was calling to his brother, as his rider called to Rhaegal’s._

Daemon turned to her. He was furious. For a moment, Daenerys thought he would run her through with his sword but then he backhanded her roughly across her face and she fell on her side on the bed, “make sure she stays here,” he growled and with that, he marched out of the room and the door slammed behind him.

Her head was ringing from the hard slap. She blinked to stop the room from spinning. Her split lips had reopened and she tasted blood in her mouth. Then a groan brought her to her feet. Daenerys limped across the room hurriedly, dropping clumsily at Daena’s side. The girl was staring at the ceiling vacantly, her face white as sheet, but her chest, with the gaping bloody hole, was still rising and falling.

“Daena,” Daenerys breathed as she slipped her arm under the girl, lifting her head into her arms, “hey, you’re going to be fine,”

Daena’s eyes refocussed as Daenerys spoke and settled on her, “no, I am going to die,” she whispered softly and Daenerys shook her head but Daena smiled and whispered, “but you won’t,” Daena’s hand reached for hers and Daenerys clutched her hand, “Dany, Drogon is released… he will come for you…once he is able,”

Daenerys nodded, feeling tears sting her eyes, “we’ll leave here together, atop Drogon,”

Daena shook her head, her hand squeezing hers. Then her deep blue eyes softened, fixed on Daenerys’ lilac and she said, “I grew up on stories of you and your conquest of Essos, to free the slaves, ending slavery, and how you won the Great War…and retook the Seven Kingdoms. You…riding Drogon…” she wheezed, “I’ve always wanted to be like you…beautiful, smart, brave…”

“You can be, you are,” Daenerys said firmly.

Daena smiled weakly, “I am not, I know that…” her hand’s grip weakened and Daenerys clutched it firmly, “then I met you… and I realised that’s not all you are…” Daena breathed, “you are also good and kind…everything my brother is not,” Daenerys glanced to the blood pouring from her wound and then at Daena’s pale face. Her deep blue eyes hardened then, “he cannot be King, Dany. You cannot let him win. My mother and sister-“ Daena coughed, her small frail body racking in her arms.

“Don’t say anymore, rest,” Daenerys gently caressed her cheek, “I will take you away from here, away from your brother, you and Moonlight and-“

“No, Dany… my mother and sister…they have _dragons_ , their own,” Daenerys froze, “it’s a trap… all along…Dorne was to draw the King away…and my Brother and I…you…” with her last breath, her blue eyes on hers, Daena whispered, “the Crown Prince…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last 5 chapters after this!! Thank you for reading and for leaving me all those comments you guys! You all are amazing and so deserving of this quick update (which I think killed my brain).


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: A lot of Jaime, but with plot development!

**_Jaime_ **

He pulled the hood closer around his face and lowered his head as they rode into the city. Atop the city gates and by the sides, he glimpsed the Unsullied keeping close watch. He glanced at Brienne and she nodded at him. When the Unsullied saw the approaching soldiers, they barred the entry to the city. Brienne spurred her horse closer as a man, a gold cloak, from atop the city gate shouted, “who goes there?”

“Brienne of Tarth,” she replied smoothly, “I come bringing men on the orders of Lord Tyrion, the Hand of the King and Queen,”

The men nodded, “let them through!” he shouted. Jaime glanced at her, letting out a breath he did not realise he was holding as they rode past the gates.

“Hey, the man in the cape on the horse, halt!” Jaime tensed but halted his horse. Beside him, he glimpsed Brienne turning, “who is this?” the man demanded.

“He’s with me,” Brienne replied smoothly, “one of my military commanders,”

“Why does he has his hood drawn up?” the man asked. Jaime could hear his footsteps approaching and Brienne dismounted.

“He is with me,” she repeated in a low tone.

“Well, if he would show his face and answer me, I will let him pass-“

They paused and Jaime looked ahead to see a small entourage approaching, a small sedan in the middle, carried by the servants. The servants lowered the sedan before them and his little brother walked out. Tyrion was wearing a black jerkin over a black cotton shirt and brown pants and boots. The pin of the Hand on his chest.

The guards bowed, “Lord Tyrion,”

“They are here on my invitation, let them pass,” Tyrion said to the guards. The man speaking to Brienne nodded and stepped back to his post at the gate. Tyrion stared at him for a long moment before he nodded to Brienne and waved for them to follow. Then he ducked back into the sedan.

Jaime kept his head low as they approached the Red Keep. The common people of King’s Landing peered at them curiously as they passed and Jaime knew if even one of them saw his face and recognised him, they would be screaming for his head. After his escape, the King issued an official announcement that Jaime Lannister was now a wanted man and for what crime. And as Jaime had said, the people loved their Queen. _But none as much as I._

As they entered the Red Keep, Jaime dismounted and stood by his horse as Tyrion emerged from his sedan. He met his little brother’s mismatched eyes before Tyrion approached hurriedly and Jaime crouched and they hugged.

“You believe me?” Jaime asked, almost in disbelief as Tyrion pulled back.

“If I did not, your head would be mounted on the spikes of the castle gates by now,” Tyrion snorted, “but you shouldn’t have run, it was stupid,”

Jaime rolled his eyes. And as he expected, of course Tyrion would know where he was. If not for the service of Varys, it would be because of his intelligence and if not even that, Tyrion knew Jaime better than anyone alive.

“Why have you come?” Tyrion frowned.

“To warn you and help you,” Jaime said, straightening as he handed the stable boys his horse. At Tyrion’s puzzled expression, Jaime continued as they walked into the Keep, “I think someone is plotting against the Crown,”

Tyrion’s steps stilled. Jaime turned to see Tyrion blink twice, his lips parted in absolute surprise, “w-what? Jaime, that is a huge accusation-“

“It’s not an accusation, it’s the truth,” Jaime took a step towards him, “Arianne Martell warned me-“

“What?” Tyrion scowled, “warned you about what?”

Jaime paused then, realising on hindsight, he should have informed his brother about what he knew about Arianne Martell. Tyrion would have been able to put together the pieces before things came to this; the King was a day or two from King’s Landing and the Queen, more than that, even while on dragon back, “I caught her coming out from the King’s chancery… she was fastening her robes,”

Tyrion’s eyes widened, “what?” he glanced around them before he began walking quickly, to the Tower of the Hand and Jaime understood, following. Jaime entered before Tyrion and as Tyrion closed the door behind them, he turned to him, “that is impossible! The King would never-“

“The Queen knows, she saw,” Jaime added and if possible, Tyrion’s eyes widened further, “but I don’t think anything happened,”

“And how did you know that?” Tyrion demanded.

“I confronted Arianne Martell,”

“Whatever for?” Tyrion rubbed his face. _To warn her that if she was to try anything to hurt the Queen in anyway, I will kill her._

“It doesn’t matter!” Jaime snapped, “when I confronted her, she said she wanted the King for herself and wanted to be the Queen. She said that it was better for the realm… that Dorne was not the only enemy of the Queen and it would be the end of House Targaryen,”

Tyrion froze then.

“Tyrion, how did the Queen know Meereen was in danger? Who sent the message?” Jaime demanded.

“Varys’ little birds found out,” Tyrion muttered.

“And they did not find out about Arianne Martell’s ploy?” Tyrion did not reply as he stared vacantly at the wall, “where is Varys?” Jaime growled.

“With her, he went with the Queen…” Tyrion replied, still in a semi-daze of shock.

Jaime then began to feel faint, “who else went with her?” Tyrion did not reply, “WHO ELSE?”

“Darry, Whent, Hightower and Mormont,”

Jaime felt some form of semblance of comfort as he heard Ser Jorah’s name. Jorah would never betray the Queen, he loved her as well. But Jaime knew there was only so much one man could do against everyone else; no matter how good a warrior Jorah Mormont was. He closed his eyes, wishing Ser Ned Cerwyn, and Rodrik Karstark had went with her instead but they had accompanied the King to war. They were the ones who were most trustworthy amongst the Kingsguard; Northerners who were absolutely loyal to the King. The rest, they took their vows, but Jaime knew in desperate times, men break and forget their vows.  

Jaime closed his hand in a painful fist. He wanted to go to her. _Gods if he had a dragon…_ But Jaime knew if she was in danger, there was little he could do for her, if it was not already too late. Then Jaime stood, “the King, did you inform the King that the Queen has left for Meereen?”

Tyrion replied, “I sent him a message but he is at war, I haven’t received any reply and the message could be lost-“

“Send another one and let him know the Queen needs help… only a dragon can get there in time now,” Jaime muttered. He loved her but Jaime knew this was all he could do for her from where he was. _This…and protecting the Crown Prince, her son._

“Jaime, we have to prepare the city for an attack,” Tyrion said, looking at him.

Jaime nodded, “where is the Prince?”

“At his lessons,” Tyrion glanced out the balcony before he continued, “with Arya I think, at this time of the day. He is spending a lot of time with Arya after his mother left,”

Jaime nodded. Arya would keep Jaehaerys safe. In fact, there was no one else left in King’s Landing that Jaime would trust with Jaehaerys. King’s Landing had most of the Lannister army that Jaime was supposed to take with him to Casterly Rock, and now the men that Brienne brought with her. They did not know the enemy and that was their greatest weakness at this point but whoever was coming would have to organise a siege of the city and the walls of King’s Landing were stronger than most castles, “send a raven to the Reach, we will need all the men they can provide. Them, the Riverlands and the Vale,” Jaime flexed his left hand as he pondered. Then he added, “and the North. Tell Lady Stark we will need them to arrive as quickly as they can-“

Just then, the bells of King’s Landing tolled loudly. The city was under siege. Jaime and Tyrion exchanged a glance and they both knew what it was.

_They’re here._

**_Jon_ **

_Fire!_

Rhaegal screeched and he burned the column of approaching soldiers. Beneath them, the Dothraki screamed, waving their arakhs in the air as they cut down the soldiers. As they rose into the air, Rhaegal roared and his body tremored under Jon. _Anger._ The emotion came upon Jon but he knew it was not his own for it came to his head before it creeped and sank deep into every inch of his body.

 _Rhaegal._ Jon glanced to the green dragon, who screeched again into the night sky. Rhaegal came for his mother, and his brother, and Jon knew he was determined to bring Fire and Blood to those who harmed them.

_I’m sorry, for not knowing you when you have always known me, understood me and fought beside me._

Just before their battle at Hellholt, Rhaegal had been anxious, even angry and Jon did what he could to soothe him but there was only so much he could do when he did not know what disturbed the dragon. But the dragon had felt the danger his brother and mother was in. Probably since they had set off from King’s Landing.

 _We will, boy._ Jon promised as he hunched over Rhaegal, spurring him to fly to the centre of the city, _we will bring Fire and Blood to our enemies. And your mother and brother will be safe again._ Rhaegal’s roar was deafening.

Then came another roar from beneath. _Drogon._ Relief sank deep in his middle. He looked down, expecting to see Drogon in the air with Daenerys on his back; he hoped. But instead, he glimpsed the black dragon on the ground, beside the largest pyramid Jon has ever seen; surrounded by soldiers. He guided Rhaegal to burn the men surrounding Drogon before they landed. Rhaegal screeched to his brother, bumping Drogon’s head with his snout in greeting. Jon dismounted quickly and ran to Drogon.

Drogon snapped and screeched but did not make to stop his approach. Drogon knew him. Daenerys was nowhere in sight and the relief he felt earlier faded to fear. He paled when he saw Drogon favouring a leg as he stepped forward towards him. Jon squinted in the dark and was appalled to see one of Drogon’s leg missing a huge chunk of flesh; what remained of the leg was grossly disfigured and looked hardly functional. As Drogon limped forward, forcing his injured leg to the ground, black steaming blood poured from it. Jon hurriedly stepped up to him and reached a hand for his snout but Drogon did not lower his head to him as he always did. Instead, Drogon roared and unfurled his wings, as if he wanted to fly.

“Where is Daenerys?” Jon shouted. Drogon’s right wing was tattered in places, evident of having been burned. Then suddenly, Drogon made to spring off the ground and take to the air. However, his injured leg faltered and failed to launch him properly into the air and Drogon fell heavily to the ground on his belly. Jon fell on his behind from the impact of his fall that shook the ground.

As Jon stood, Rhaegal purred and nudged Jon in his back with his snout. Jon staggered forward and glanced at Rhaegal. _Fear. Anxiety._ The emotions clutched at his heart. Then Drogon screeched, looking up, he pushed himself off the ground and flapped his wings. He began to rise into the air. Jon followed his gaze to see Drogon flying towards the top of the pyramid. There was only ever one person who could rile Drogon up like this; when she was injured in the Great War and did not recover for four years.

Jon sprinted back to Rhaegal and scrambled onto his back. _Fly._ Jon thought, barely sat properly yet. Rhaegal screeched and took to the air. They caught up to Drogon as he landed heavily on top of the pyramid. Jon guided Rhaegal to land as well, perched on the side of the pyramid, his claws sinking into the concrete. Beside him, Drogon was panting heavily but there was a loud purr coming from Drogon as he proceeded closer to the balcony of the pyramid.

Rhaegal sank the claw of his foreleg onto the parapet of the balcony and Jon dismounted hurriedly. Behind him, Drogon stepped closer to the balcony. He landed heavily in the balcony. It was the private chambers of the owner of the pyramid. Then he saw two figure hunched on the floor beside the table.

Relief filled him.

“Daenerys,” he breathed as he approached her hastily. She rose and turned to him. He wrapped his arms around her firmly, pressing his nose into her hair, taking in all of her. She smelled fresh, washed. He stroked her long soft silver hair gently with one hand as the other wandered to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him.

She hissed in pain and he drew back hurriedly.

That was when he realised she was bare.

Jon froze before the implications of it came to him, his eyes taking in the state of her. One side of her face was red and slightly swollen. Her lips, swollen as well, had a deep bleeding cut on the bottom. His eyes gazed over her body to see discolouration over the expanse of her middle. It was so large Jon could hardly call it a bruise.

Rage filled him then and his hand flew to Longclaw. He stepped away and glared around the chambers, searching. That was when he spotted the large bed with an overhanging canopy. The sheets were messy, looking slept in and his stomach dropped, his heart tearing itself asunder at the thought of what could have transpired. Slowly, he turned back to look at her, pained, regret for leaving her sinking its claws deep within him.

Daenerys limped forward. She cupped his cheeks in his warm gentle hands. As her eyes locked with his, she shook her head firmly. He let out the breath of air he has been holding. He wrapped an arm gently around her waist and pulled her to him. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him down to her, pressing her lips to his. Jon, with his eyes closed, smiled unwittingly against her lips, a sweetness filling his mouth, his chest, as he kissed her gently.

Then he tasted blood. His eyes flew open and he quickly drew back. He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes darted down to the gash on her lips and he scowled, “where is he?” Jon growled, his voice harsh and almost animalistic. He hardly recognised his own voice. It has been a long time since anyone could evoke such rage in him.

Daenerys shook her head then, in disbelief as she gazed at him, “how did you find me?” His middle fluttered as he heard her voice, the very one he longed for and heard in his dreams every night, since he left her.

As he gazed at her, he felt the rage ebb away and he replied softly, “Dany, I will always find you,” a small smile graced her lips as her eyes welled up. Jon gently cupped her cheek, minding the red swollen skin as he caressed her with his thumb. She closed her eyes, pressing into his palm. He stared at her wounds, letting the hatred sink deep inside him.

Then her eyes flew open and she pulled away, “Jon, we have to go back,” she said.

“What?”

Her face contorted with fear, “Jaehaerys, they are going to take him,” she staggered past him towards the balcony.

Jon frowned in puzzlement. He held her arm and stopped her as gently as he can, not knowing where else she might be hurt, “Dany, what are you talking about?”

She swallowed and made to speak. Then the door opened suddenly. Jon turned to see a man standing there, stunned at the sight of Jon, “Hey!” he snapped out of his reverie and shouted. He drew his sword and Jon let go of Dany and drew Longclaw, his face in a snarl. Jon parried the man’s strike to the side and plunged his sword into the man’s chest. As he fell, one more entered, stabbing his sword at Jon. Jon twisted to the side and brought Longclaw along his exposed neck, slicing the skin and flesh open like paper. The man gasped, clutching his neck as he fell; dead.

Jon turned to Daenerys then. He glanced at her still bare form and went to a large chest to the side, opening it. He rummaged through it and pulled out a black coat and a pair of pants. He opened the coat and went to her. Gently, he helped her slip her arm through the coat and he pulled it over her, buttoning it. It was slightly larger but not overly so. He then helped her with the pants. The furrows between his brows deepened as she staggered while trying to step into it. Eventually, she leaned heavily on him as she did.

“It’s the Blackfyres,” she told him, slightly short of breath from the pain of donning clothes, as he laced up her pants. His heart wrenched at the thought of the pain she was in. _Blackfyres._ Jon remembered learning about their multiple rebellions in the past, all failed rebellions, “they have dragons,” his eyes darted to hers, stunned.

“How many?” he asked, tensed.

“I don’t know, I think four,” she said, “But Drogon and I, we killed one. There is one more here but the rider…” her voice wavered and trailed off and her gaze shifted. He followed her gaze to a young woman on the floor whom Jon did not notice before; dead. Then suddenly, they heard a screech from the balcony. _Rhaegal._

Daenerys turned and limped towards the balcony. He held her arm and helped her to it. As they emerged, Jon glanced to Rhaegal and followed the green dragon’s gaze to see a shadow in the skies. He squinted and saw it to be a dark coloured dragon but it was flying away.

“Moonlight…no,” Daenerys muttered and she turned to him, clutching his arm, “we have to go to King’s Landing. That is where he is going,”

“Who?” Jon frowned.

“Daemon Blackfyre,” she said tersely, refusing to meet his gaze as she glanced to the fleeing dragon.

His grip on Longclaw tightened, almost painfully, his other hand on her arm, gentle, “did he do this to you?” he asked quietly.

Daenerys nodded stiffly. She turned around as a loud purr was heard behind them. Drogon had lowered his snout to them from atop the pyramid, his eyes fixed on Daenerys, “Drogon,” she whispered. Drogon purred in response. She raised a hand and stroked his snout, “ _ānogar ānograro_ (blood of my blood),” a whimper came from Drogon as Daenerys pressed her forehead to his snout, “we have to go. Now,” she made to mount Drogon.

Jon nodded in agreement and he went to her. Drogon lowered his wing, the claw of his foreleg digging into the balcony. Daenerys made to step up but she gasped and staggered back. Already expecting it, Jon caught her against his own body and held her to him firmly, “let me help you,” he muttered, already knowing she would never agree to ride with him on Rhaegal. She nodded and he proceeded onto Drogon. Drogon snorted as Jon mounted him but Daenerys hushed him. Jon then offered her a hand, from atop Drogon and pulled her up. Guiding her the last couple of spikes up, she settled gingerly on Drogon’s back with him helping her from standing on Drogon’s side.

He gazed at her face a moment longer, worried. She met his eyes then and cupping his bearded cheek gently, she whispered, “don’t leave me again,”

“Never,” he replied softly, placing his hand over hers, on his cheek, “I never should have in the first place,” Jon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek before he dismounted and mounted Rhaegal.

Daenerys glanced below, “Dothraki?”

He nodded. He had found the biggest Khalasar he could and defeated them in a short battle; understanding that to gain their respect, he would have to earn it; to rise as a leader within their ranks, power has to be taken. It was not Jon’s way, to defeat them and ‘force’ them to follow him but it was theirs and Jon had little choice. She smiled at him and Jon glimpsed pride in her lilac eyes. He returned the smile.

“We should bring them with us, if the Blackfyre means for a battle-“

“There is no time,” Daenerys said, fear in her eyes but not fear for herself or him; _Jaehaerys_.

Jon nodded stiffly, “we’ll call for the Lords of Westeros,”

“We will fight for the Iron Throne without ‘foreign savages’ this time,” Daenerys told him, an amused twinkle in her eyes and Jon barked a laugh. They were going to war and unlike how he had felt when he marched on King’s Landing after the Great War or when he marched to war against Dorne, Jon felt an odd serenity as he gazed at Daenerys beside him. _We would be fighting together._

She caught his gaze and he told her, “you know I never liked fighting. But my father always said, if I have to fight, win,”

Daenerys smiled and nodded, “we will,” then as she guided Drogon to the edge, ready to take to the skies, she gazed at him once more; her smile gone and there was a foreign look in her eyes that Jon could not delve into in time before Daenerys turned away and leaned forward gingerly. Drogon roared, leaping off the pyramid.

**_Jaime_ **

Tyrion stared at him, stunned.

“Go! Send the ravens!” Jaime snapped, “and take some men to protect the Prince. Bring him to Maegor’s holdfast, fill the moats and lift the drawbridge!” then he ran to the outer yards. That was where he found Brienne.

“What is going on?” Brienne asked.

“The city is under attack,” Jaime told her. Brienne’s eyes widened, “where are your men?”

“Settling down in the barracks-“

“Get them to the square now! And the Lannister soldiers!” he shouted. Brienne nodded and took off. Jaime then sprinted to the top of the battlements. The city was thrown into chaos. The people were panicking, running into their houses and shutting the doors and windows. Some of them had their possessions with them in the streets as they ran to the city gates, no doubt trying to escape the impending battle. Then he looked towards the city gates. The gates were closed and Jaime muttered his thanks to the Gods that the gold cloaks and Unsullied on guard had the wit about them to close the gates when they spied an impending army.

As he glimpsed the soldiers gathering in the square as he commanded, Jaime allowed himself to breathe as he thought. He could dedicate their forces to defend the keep but it would mean leaving the thousands in King’s Landing to suffer at the hands of enemy soldiers. It was not what the King and Queen would have wanted-

Suddenly a screech sounded from the skies. Jaime looked up, hopeful and relieved beyond measure. He spotted a dragon approaching from over the city gates. His smile faded when the dragon reared back its head and burned the city gates, setting the soldiers defending from above alight.

His breath hitched in his throat and he realised too late the scales of this dragon was silver, not jade green or black. Jaime watched, shaken and in disbelief, as the city gates was battered open, weakened by the fire, and sellswords began to flood into the city, shouting war cries. The dragon roared and Jaime could only stare as pale white flames burst forth from the dragon, setting houses alight.

 _Scorpion. We need a Scorpion_. He knew Cersei had a few of them made but since the Targaryens ruled, the scorpions were kept away in the most obscure dungeons of the Red Keep. They were cumbersome to move and watching the silver dragon raze the city with its flames, Jaime knew they had no time to transport the Scorpion; even if they did, the dragon would simply burn it before they could shoot. It was heading for the Red Keep already.

Jaime shouted, “take cover!” to the square below as the dragon roared, approaching fast. He himself ducked down as the dragon flew overhead. Jaime glimpsed the white fire pour from the dragon and into the square. The soldiers below screamed and Jaime could smell their flesh burning.

He glanced up at the dragon as it circled the keep. On its back sat a woman, her hair was dark and she was pale, slender. As she circled the Red Keep, she glanced around the Keep and Jaime knew he was looking for the Prince. Then beyond the walls, Jaime could hear approaching soldiers, all sellswords.

“Shut the gates!” Jaime shouted and the men scrambled to obey but the dragon above screeched and its fire turned the men approaching the gates to ash. Jaime’s eyes widened as the dragon approached him, the rider staring straight at him. Jaime ran off the battlements and descended the stairs just as white flames burned where he was. The flames followed him and he tumbled down the remaining steps and into the courtyard.

The dragon screeched and rose into the skies again just as the soldiers turned to it, throwing spears.

Jaime rose from the mud just as battle cries was heard behind him. He turned to see the sellswords, some on horses, some on foot, flood into the Keep.

As Jaime drew his sword, he prayed Tyrion managed to bring the Prince to Maegor’s Holdfast and secure the Holdfast. It may not be much defence against a dragon but a dragon would not be able to take the Prince, the rider would have to dismount and fight her way to the Prince herself or find a way to get her men across.

Jaime parried as a sellsword hacked his sword at him before Jaime stepped forward, gutting the man. As he dropped, Jaime turned to the next man but a telling sound of approaching beat of wings stopped him. Jaime turned and dove to the side as the dragon burned the courtyard of men; sellswords and Lannister soldiers alike.

Then the dragon landed atop the battlements, roaring down at the men below, “stop this battle or everyone here will burn!” the rider shouted.

Jaime rose. About him, the Lannister soldiers glanced to each other before they turned to him. The sellswords surrounded them and more were flooding in.

The rider gazed over them before her eyes found him and she held his gaze. Jaime blinked and glanced around him and he saw his men; all men with wives, children, families. They all wanted to live. Who was he to demand they died for him? With a heavy heart, Jaime threw his sword down and around him, his men followed.

Jaime glared at the rider as she smirked. She gestured to the sellswords and they began to round up the soldiers in the centre of the outer courtyard, forcing them to their knees. Another group of sellswords proceeded into the Keep, no doubt gathering everyone from the Keep into the courtyard. Jaime shrugged off a sellsword who approached him only for three more to converge around him, pushing him to his knees. The rider dismounted her dragon and they watched as she descended from the battlements.

“This city is now mine,” she said as she descended the last few steps, “what I want is simple. If you give it to me, you can all live, to die another day,” she smiled. The men glanced to each other around Jaime but he could only stare at her. As she approached, her eyes were a stark purple colour; _Valyrian blood,_ “give me the Crown Prince, Jaehaerys is his name I think,” she said, “and from what I heard, silver hair, silver eyed, only a boy,”

The men bowed their heads in silence. They did not need her description. They all knew the Crown Prince, they all loved him as if he was their own son. The Crown Prince often mingled with these men in the training yards, regardless of the telling lion on their breastplate.

She narrowed his eyes as they settled on Jaime, “you,” she pointed, “you’re the commander aren’t you?”

Jaime did not reply. She gestured to the sellsword and two men converge on him, yanking him to his feet and forward. Jaime struggled and managed to shove them off, walking ahead on his own towards the rider.

“Who are you?” she asked. Jaime stared at her quietly, “tight-lipped man, aren’t you?” she smiled. Behind her, her dragon roared, threatening to spew fire but Jaime stood his ground, unfazed. Her brows raised in evident surprise, “brave as well,” she then looked over his garbs, “not a Kingsguard… not the commander of the goldcloak-“ then she paused and Jaime followed her gaze to see it fixed on his golden hand, “Jaime Lannister. What a pleasant surprise, the last I heard of you, you were across the country on the run from the Queen,”

He remained silent. A flash of rage crossed her face before Jaime felt a hard slap across his cheek. He staggered to the side but remained standing, “I will never run from the Queen,” he glared at her.

She smirked, satisfied. Then she turned as the sellswords that entered the keep emerged. Jaime tensed as he glimpsed Tyrion amongst them. Tyrion met his eyes momentarily before his eyes dropped. If his presence here was not telling enough, it was evident on his face then that Tyrion had not managed to do as he asked. Jaime could only hope he managed to send the ravens.

Tyrion and the men behind him was forced to their knees with the soldiers. Then they waited. Every time the sellsword emerged from the keep, Jaime could only mutter a quick prayer that it would not be the Prince and time passed. But with the Prince somewhere in the Keep, exposed and unprotected but for his aunt, Jaime knew it was only a matter of time before they found the Prince.

“You’ll never find him,” Jaime spoke then.

The rider turned from stroking the snout of her dragon and she frowned at him, “what did you say?” she demanded and approached.

“There are many secret passageways in the Keep, you will never find him like this,” Jaime said evenly.

The rider glanced to the Keep and seemed to be in thought before she looked at him, “and I suppose you have a suggestion? Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Jaime replied simply, “but if I go looking for him, he will come to me when he sees me. If he sees your men, he will only run and hide. Then you will never find him, not before more of the King and Queen’s men arrive,”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “so the Prince knows you?”

“He trusts me,” Jaime replied, “I have been here since he was born, his mother’s sworn sword,”

The rider nodded then and as he stepped forward to head into the Keep, she raised a hand, “wait,” she said lazily, “do you think I’m an idiot? My men will accompany you,” she gestured and two of the sellswords stepped forward, their swords drawn, “if he tries anything, run him through. If you have walked the castle once through and the Prince is nowhere to be found, skewer him,” she told them then her purple eyes fell on him, “the next time I see you, it will be with the Prince, or not at all,” she smiled, “bind his hands!” she ordered.

“If you bind my hands, why would the Prince come to me for safety? With your men, faces he does not recognise with me, even I don’t know if he will come to me,” Jaime snapped. She paused before she nodded stiffly, giving the men with him a meaningful look. _Keep an eye on him._ As he walked towards the Keep, he met Tyrion’s eye momentarily but it was not who he was looking for. Then he found her, Brienne, knelt amongst her own men. He shot her a look and hoped she knew he would do something about this and she would act when the time was right. Her brows furrowed in worry but he glimpsed her lower her head in a subtle nod as he was shoved forward.

“Not here,” Jaime muttered, turning towards Maegor’s Holdfast. Jaime did not know what he intended to do but he knew they needed to kill that dragon if they want to stand a chance to win. He had no idea where the Prince was. Although in the past, Jaehaerys would not hesitate to come to him amidst such a dangerous situation, Jaime was not sure if the Queen’s poisoning has changed that.

“Where are you going?” the man behind him demanded, the point of his sword digging into his lower back.

“Maegor’s Holdfast,” Jaime replied quietly and the men muttered amongst themselves. As they descended the serpentine steps, Jaime spun around quickly and backhanded a man with the sword in the face with his golden hand. He heard the man’s cheekbone crack under the impact as he fell to the floor with a shout. The other man lunged forward, stabbing at him. Jaime twisted to the side and the sword missed. The man, predictably, began to lose his balance, teetering on the steps. Jaime grabbed him around back of his neck and shoved his knee into his face as he brought his head down.

Blood spurted as his nose broke and Jaime shoved him down the steps. The other man, one hand holding his broken cheekbone, rose and began hacking at him. Jaime dodged and ducked into the armoury. Blindly picking up a weapon, Jaime blocked a strike to see he had picked up a sword. Jaime parried his next stab and turned his sword, driving the pommel into his face. The man cried out and fall to the ground, unconscious.

He stood there, staring at the unconscious man. Jaime knew he could go into the Keep and find Jaehaerys and attempt to bring him to safety. _But then what?_ If these men did not return to her reporting that Jaime had been killed or bringing Jaime and the Prince, the rider would no doubt look for him, atop her dragon. Jaehaerys would be hunted, in harm’s way.

Then Jaime looked to Maegor’s Holdfast. _No._ Jaime decided. _Jaehaerys will stay here, in a place he knew better than anyone, where he could run and hide as he always did every single day of his life since he could walk._

 _And I will draw the dragon away._ Jaime then slipped into the secret passageway behind the rack of swords. _The men are not dead. They will inform her I have escaped. She would come find me on the oft chance that I have found the Prince and fled._ He ran down the passageway and soon, he was out of the Keep. He ran down Shadowblack lane and he came to the foot of Aegon’s high hill. He ducked into the streets, between the houses as a pair of sellswords walked past.

He glanced down the quiet street, appalled. The street was lined with bodies of the innocent, the drains quickly filling with blood. Jaime swallowed before deciding to go down the one on his right, the Street of the Flour. Jaime knew the dragon would be out looking for him soon but then what?

Then he heard the clashing of swords down the bend. He had half a mind to turn the other way; he had better things to take care of. But his vows came to him; the ones he took when he became a knight. _To protect the weak and defenceless._ So Jaime ran down the street. Before him, one man fought four sellswords.

Jaime parried away the strike of a sellsword and quickly opened a large gash in his neck. Then he turned to the next sellsword. He hacked at Jaime, missing as he ducked. Then Jaime quickly brought down his sword on the sellsword’s, disarming him. Jaime ran his sword through his stomach.

Jaime removed his sword, letting the sellsword sink to the floor before him. He turned to see the man he helped kill the last sellsword with a knife to the throat.

The man turned to him, “thank-“ he blinked, “Ser Jaime?!”

“Cadder,” Jaime frowned, “what are you doing here?”

“I live just down the street,” Cadder panted. _A baker’s son._ “My dad told me to hide with him in the shop but I couldn’t…” the young man blinked, looking at him, “I’m a knight now, I have a duty to fight,”

Jaime could not help the proud smile that spread over his face then.

“What is going on here?” Cadder asked angrily, “I heard the dragon but they are attacking-“

Jaime blinked, remembering he did not have much time left. Jaime told him, “it’s not the King and Queen’s dragon,” Cadder’s eyes widened, “someone has come to usurp the throne while the King and Queen are not here,” Jaime glanced back to the Keep.

“Now what?” Cadder followed his glance to the Keep, no doubt knowing that was where the dragon was.

“We are going to kill the dragon,” Jaime said as he thought, his eyes searching the streets. Then he glimpsed a body of a child. Jaime pulled away from Cadder and gingerly picked up the small boy. His body was cold and limp in his arms.

“How are you going to-“

“They want the Prince, no doubt to hold him hostage to be used against the King and Queen when they return,” Jaime said. With the boy’s body in his arm, Jaime averted his eyes from his face, “we have to lure the dragon away from the Keep and then we will kill him,” Jaime glanced to the boy’s hair to see it was dark. He then approached the open front of a deserted store. Piercing a sack of flour with his sword, Jaime picked up a handful of flour and dusted over the boy’s hair till it was white. Not silver but from a distance, it would be enough.

Cadder stared at what he was doing and asked, “how are you going to lure the dragon?”

“They will know I escaped soon enough and when that happens, they will send the dragon to look for me, it’s the fastest way. And they will see me escaping with the Prince,” Jaime looked down at the boy, a lump forming in his throat at the boy’s pale face. He was only about Jaehaerys’ age. Jaime swallowed and positioned the boy on his back with Cadder’s help so the boy’s arms were around his neck and Jaime held onto his legs.

Cadder nodded, “well, then how are you going to kill it then?” he shifted from one leg to the other, “is there anything I can do to help?”

Jaime glanced down the streets as he thought. Then he glimpsed the top of the dragonpit over the rows of houses. He turned to Cadder then, “you are going to light a fire for me,”

**_Arya_ **

“Very good, white wolf!” Arya exclaimed as Jaehaerys managed to tap her on her arm with his wooden sword. The many days of training was starting to show. Jaehaerys was a fast learner, especially because he hated to lose. Every time Arya struck him, he would scowl before he would hold up his sword, ready. The only thing he hated more than losing was winning when she let him win. In those moments, Arya thought Jaehaerys was too smart for his own good.

Jaehaerys grinned gleefully as he struck her but at her words, his smile faded and he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked, holding her sword behind her back as she approached. Jaehaerys’ sword was lowered to the ground.

He stared at the floor for a moment before he said, “the people calls Father that, don’t they?”

Arya closed her eyes. He missed them. In the days of their absence, Jaehaerys’ lessons carried on as usual but any mention or reminder of his parents, he would withdraw to brood and Arya could not hate Jaehaerys’ resemblance to Jon any more than in those moments; he was almost inconsolable, exactly like Jon, “yes,” she replied gently.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, after his wolf I suppose, Ghost was white. But it started when he was first named King in the North,” Arya explained, “when he avenged our brother, your uncle; his wife and my mother too,”

“The Red Wedding,” Jaehaerys said.

Arya raised her brows, surprised he knew about it.

“Father told Maester Sam to teach it to me; the War of the Five Kings. And the Purple Wedding, the Great War…” Jaehaerys said.

Arya nodded, “a King must know his history, to learn from it,”

Jaehaerys did not reply her then. He merely stared out the balcony blankly, “do you think they are coming back soon?”

Arya stepped forward, lifting his chin with a finger so he looked at her, “your Father and Mother will return when their duty is done,”

“How will they return if there is nothing to return to?” Jaehaerys asked, gazing at her.

Arya frowned then, “They are returning to you-“

“What if I’m no longer here?” Jaehaerys said.

Arya was appalled as he spoke of death; a child only four years of age. She cupped his cheek, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. His grey eyes, normally filled with light and life, were dull.

“Do you believe in the Gods, Jaehaerys?” Arya asked.

Jaehaerys nodded, “the Old Gods,” _because his father taught it to him,_ “and I know the Seven as well, and the Lord of Light, the Drowned Gods… Maester Sam taught them all to me too,” he looked at her curiously, “do you believe in them?”

“Well, someone once told me that there is only one God,” Arya smiled, “and his name is Death,”

Jaehaerys frowned, “you can’t worship death,” he argued, “no one would ever want to die-“

Arya chuckled, “you don’t worship him. You tell him something, every day,” _it kept me alive most days._

He asked then, “tell him what?”

“Not today,” Arya smiled. Jaehaerys thought on it for a moment before he smiled and Arya cherished his little face lighting up like this; it happened less than it should these days, “Jaehaerys, your father and mother love you with all their heart,”

“And yet, they left me,” Jaehaerys countered indignantly. Arya fell silent. She could not argue with that for she had thought it; about her own father and mother a thousand times. They should not have left Winterfell, everything would be alright if they stayed; they would still be alive.

Then suddenly Suvion shot to his feet from curling on the floor, around the red-black dragon egg that Jaehaerys brought with him wherever he went, barking. They turned to Suvion. The direwolf yipped then at the wall. Then he howled. Jaehaerys frowned, “danger…” he turned to Arya, “Suvion…” Jaehaerys walked towards Suvion then, picking up and cradling the dragon egg to him.  

Then they heard an indistinctive shout from outside the door and there was the sound of clashing swords. Jaehaerys stepped towards the door curiously. Then the door flew open. Arya instinctively reached for Jaehaerys, pulling him behind her. Suvion came to Jaehaerys’ side, growling. Arya glanced to Needle which lay on floor at the side as five unfamiliar men came into the room. She raised her wooden sword before her at them. They all wore leather armour and wielded swords.

Out in the corridor, Arya glimpsed the Kingsguards fighting the other men, dressed similarly.

“Prince Jaehaerys, come with us,” one man snapped.

Jaehaerys frowned at them and made to step forward but Arya raised an arm, pushing him back, “who are you? How did you come into the Holdfast?” she demanded.

“Come quietly Prince,” he stepped forward and Arya stepped back, pushing Jaehaerys back. She raised her wooden sword before her. The men paused, eyeing it before they burst into laughter.

“Jaehaerys,” Arya said evenly, “run, take Suvion with you,”

A man cried out as he lunged forward towards her. She parried his sword and as he stumbled forward, losing his balance, she struck him hard on the back of his head. He fell to the floor, unmoving.

“Jaehaerys!” Arya snapped and glanced back to see Jaehaerys blinking, “go!” she shouted.

“What about you?” Jaehaerys whimpered. Two men then cried and charged towards her, “Suvion! _dohaeragon zirȳla_ (help her)!” Jaehaerys shouted and as Arya met the sword of one man, beside her, Suvion bit into the arm of the other. The man who was bitten, screamed and dropped to the ground, the direwolf on him. Arya rapped the man on the side of his head, hard. As he fell, two of the Kingsguards came through the door, fighting and killing the other two men. Arya looked up and tensed. Through the door, she glimpsed more men were coming towards the disturbance.

“Jaehaerys,” she turned to him. He met her eyes, “you have to go,”

Jaehaerys shook his head, “we’ll go together,” he said firmly.

Arya glanced to the approaching men. There were at least three ten of them, “I will catch up to you,” she placed a finger under his chin. Jaehaerys glanced to the men approaching and then to his Kingsguards, “go. Don’t worry, I know the words, to the God of Death. As do you,” she told him and he nodded reluctantly, “keep Suvion close, protect him as he will protect you,”

Jaehaerys nodded, firmer this time. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. Arya stepped back, surprised, before she forced a smile and gave him a tight hug. Then behind her, she heard the clashing of steel. She pulled Jaehaerys away and pushed him towards the other door. As she turned, she parried away the sword of a man charging towards her. Glancing back to Jaehaerys, she hit the man, hard, over the shoulder. To her relief, Jaehaerys turned and clicked his tongue to Suvion. Together, they ran out the other door.

**_Tyrion_ **

Tyrion watched as Jaime was escorted away, unbounded, to search for the Prince. _What was he planning?_

_Brother, be smart about it and don’t get yourself killed, whatever it is._

Tyrion had tried to do as Jaime instructed. He had scrawled messages for all the six Kingdoms, ordering them to send their armies to aid the Crown in a rebellion by unknown foreigners. As he watched the ravens take wing, breathing a sigh of relief as he watched them fly out of sight safely, Tyrion turned to the Maesters and ordered them to hide themselves before he went in search of the Prince.

The Prince was supposed to be at his water dancing lessons with Arya Stark, in Maegor’s Holdfast. Tyrion quickly walked towards the Holdfast. As he approached, he shouted orders to the soldiers and Unsullied standing guard to prepare the Holdfast for an attack. As he watched the men begin to fill the moults, he heard the familiar beat of wings and hope filled him. Tyrion looked up and hope turned to horror as an unfamiliar dragon and an unfamiliar rider flew overhead, claiming the Keep as their own. The dragon had burnt the men trying to secure the Holdfast before the sellswords came, apprehending them.

Tyrion’s own men were killed before he was apprehended and dragged to the outer courtyard where he saw Jaime.

_Arya… she will protect Jaehaerys. She must._

Tyrion eyed the woman before them, trying his best to ignore her snarling dragon. Her hair was long and dark. Her skin pale. She looked an ordinary woman if not for the purple eyes. She had Valyrian blood… or it was merely a coincidence but Tyrion knew, having read about them, that it took a dragon to ride one; a dragon would not be ridden by a mere common woman.

The Targaryens… what was left of them were rulers of this very country this woman was invading, and the Prince she was hunting. But Tyrion knew of another house, one that had the blood of Old Valyria as well and was famed for failed rebellions only three generations ago. The line of the sons were long gone and so House Blackfyre was assumed to be extinct. But the daughters… they were not to be underestimated.

_Could she be a Blackfyre? The daughter of Maelys the Monstrous? No, she is too young. Granddaughter then?_

She was sat atop the post of the stables, picking at the wood impatiently. Then suddenly, she leaped to her feet and stalked closer to them.

Tyrion watched her as she approached. Her purple eyes studied the knelt men before her. It was only when her eyes met his and she held his gaze, did Tyrion realise he was the only one looking up at her. The rest of the men around him had their heads bowed, looking to the dirt or their eyes closed.

“You,” she pointed at him and the sellswords came to him, dragging him before her. She looked over him, her face twisting in disgust as her eyes darted over his frame, “if it isn’t the Hand of the King and Queen,” she sneered.

Tyrion glared at her.

“Who better to ask about the whereabouts of the Prince,” she said.

Tyrion shrugged, “the Prince’s parents maybe, the King and the Queen-“

Without warning, the breath was knocked out of him when she kicked him in the chest. He fell back, biting back a groan, “don’t try to be funny with me, I know they are not here,” she snarled. _So Jaime was right, they baited the King and Queen away to attack,_ “I have heard of your sharp-tongued reputation, Lord Hand, it is an honour to meet you in person and experience it for myself,”

“I aim to please,” he replied as he got back to his feet, rubbing his chest that was surely bruised.

She sneered at him, “your brother sure is taking an awfully long time,” she turned.

“It’s a large Keep,” he glanced to the side to see a man approaching, one of whom had departed with Jaime. He was staggering towards them, holding his nose from which blood gushed from.

The rider turned to him, scowling, “what happened? Where is he? Is he dead?”

The man shook his head and said nasally, “he attacked us on the steps-“

She glared at him, seething, “where is he now?”

“I don’t know, we were both knocked unconscious,” the man said. She cried out in frustration and before the man realise it, she has drawn her dagger from her hip and ran it across his neck. He fell on the ground, dead.

She turned to Tyrion then, “Jaime Lannister. He thinks he can escape with the Prince,” she snarled.

As she turned to her dragon and her intention that she meant to give chase, became clear to Tyrion, he panicked, “Jaime is a coward, an oathbreaker,” Tyrion spat, “he probably fled by himself,” _no way in Seven Hells._

 She stilled in her steps and turned to look at him slowly. Murder flashed in her purple eyes, “you really think you are so clever?” she snapped, “Jaime Lannister is utterly loyal to the Queen, he would never flee without the Prince and he said it himself, the Prince would come to him,”

Tyrion closed his eyes as she mounted her dragon.

“Make sure no one escapes before I return,” she shouted to the sellswords before the dragon roared and took to the air.

_Flee Brother…and quickly. Save Jaehaerys… if anything were to happen to the King and Queen in their battles… the Prince is our only hope._

As the dragon departed, Tyrion looked at the sellswords. Most of them had a broken sword on their leather armour; _the second sons._ Daario Naharis was dead and they betrayed the Queen. This woman was evidently from Meereen if she arrived with the Second Sons. Tyrion pursed his lips, wondering if she had met the Queen and praying that she had not, for she was here and the Queen was not.

Tyrion wondered where they have gone wrong. What had led to this? Was it Arianne Martell’s beheading? Then he realised. _They, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, are strongest when they are together. Their mistake began when they parted ways; Jon Snow off the war with Dorne and Daenerys Targaryen alone in the Red Keep before she went off to Meereen._ Tyrion thought. _Ice and Fire. One cannot do without the other but together, who would dare oppose them? Who could?_ And yet, now, they are neither together nor here to save their country.

Suddenly, a loud cry rose from the soldiers behind him and Tyrion turned to see a large soldier drive his dagger into the chest of a sellsword nearby. The soldier turned to another sellsword and Tyrion saw that it was Brienne.  When the soldiers of Tarth saw their Lady fighting, they rose.

“Grab a weapon!” Tyrion shouted at the nearest Lannister soldier. The young man scrambled for a rock and smashed it into one of the sellsword’s head before he could stab him with his sword. The Lannister soldiers rose and fought. Tyrion ducked as a Lannister soldier almost trip over him as he approach to fight a sellsword. Tyrion stumbled and fell back against the stables post, his eyes wide and alert for danger.

He grabbed an abandoned shield before ducking back against the post of the stables. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, pulling back the shield to dash it against the enemy’s knee. But he only saw the Prince’s face. Tyrion stopped himself just as Jaehaerys’ eyes widened in shock and he fell back on his bottom in the stables.

“My Prince!” Tyrion hissed. Jaehaerys’ face scrunched up in distaste as Tyrion addressed him as such. Jaehaerys had always preferred to be addressed by his name, especially by people who he knew his whole life. Tyrion glanced about nervously but none of the sellsword noticed, they were too busy fending for themselves against the Lannister and Tarth soldiers, “go, run!” Tyrion glanced to the skies nervously.

“Come with me, run away with me,” Jaehaerys said.

Tyrion glimpsed over him, relieved to see Jaehaerys was uninjured. In his arms, he cradled his dragon egg. Behind him in the shadows, Tyrion could see Suvion, watching Jaehaerys unblinkingly; the best guardian Tyrion could ever wish for the Prince, “no, Jaehaerys,” Jaehaerys frowned, “you have Suvion and you are fast,” Tyrion grabbed his shoulder, “faster than anyone I have ever seen,” Jaehaerys smiled, tears welling up in his grey eyes, almost silver, “I will only slow you down and I can’t protect you, I can’t fight,” Jaehaerys shook his head and made to object but Tyrion said quickly, “go with Suvion and go now!” _before the dragon returns._ But Tyrion would not tell him that, there was no need to frighten the young Prince.

“Where should I go?” Jaehaerys asked,

 _Where would it be safe for a Prince? The North but it was too far and a journey too dangerous for the young Prince to undertake alone, even with a direwolf at his side,_ “go south, to Storm’s End. The Baratheons, even if Gendry is not there, they would protect you,” Tyrion squeezed his shoulder, “go quickly, Suvion will guide you through the Kingswood where it would be easier to stay unseen,” Jaehaerys bit his lips, “you are very good at that, aren’t you Jaehaerys? To stay unseen,” he smirked.

The edge of Jaehaerys’ lips turned up and Jaehaerys rubbed the tears from his eyes, “Tyrion…” he looked at him with sad grey eyes, “don’t die,” he said.   

“I won’t. Go!” Tyrion whispered. Jaehaerys nodded before he turned to Suvion. Holding the egg under one arm, Jaehaerys fisted Suvion’s fur, crouching. He watched till the sellsword fighting a Lannister soldier by the stables was killed before Jaehaerys darted out the side and disappeared around the back of the stables.

_Jaehaerys Targaryen the Third of His Name. A boy of four with a heart bigger and braver than most Kings, grown men, that I read about._


	37. Chapter 37

**_Jaime_ **

The body on his back was ice cold and the limbs were stiff. The feel of it against him sent shivers down his spine and goosebumps pimpled on his skin but Jaime ran all the same. He glanced to the side to see white hair, coated in flour.

He was on the Street of the Sister and the climb up Rhaenys’s Hill was starting to take its toll of his already tired body but he knew he cannot slow down now. He had to arrive there just before-

A screech sounded from above and Jaime glanced back to see the dragon in a distance. Jaime was running along a clear road that was lined on both sides with trees but the road itself was visible from above. Ahead, Jaime glimpsed the top of the looming structure. Jaime spurred himself faster and soon, he came to the open doors of the dragonpit. There were no Unsullied guarding it when there usually would be. They have probably joined the battle to fight off the sellswords, seeing as there were no dragons to guard.

He panted, looking up at it; tall, imposing, almost frightening but only to those who knew what lay within. The King has had it fixed after the Great War and again when Drogon had damaged the roof, angered when Jaehaerys tried to ride him.

Another roar behind him made Jaime look back. The dragon was heading straight for him and no doubt, the rider has spotted him as well. Jaime turned and quickly slipped within the dragonpit. It was pitch black as he walked deeper into it and Jaime blinked, walking blindly in the dark for a moment. Then his foot caught on something and he fell hard. He groaned, smelling the smell of burned flesh on the ground that was coated in a sticky substance.

Then the beat of wings that was closer than the roar before made Jaime get up quickly and walk deeper into the pit. As he found the slope that led to the lower level, he knew he was at the farthest corner in the dragonpit, from the door. He grabbed the cold arms around his neck and pulled. The arm moved stiffly. As the body dropped behind him with a sickening thud, Jaime turned and positioned the body sitting against the wall behind him.

Then Jaime felt the ground tremble beneath him as the dragon landed heavily. It screeched.

Glancing towards the door, Jaime turned to the body and said, “don’t be afraid my Prince, I won’t let anything happen to y-“

“Jaime Lannister!” the rider shouted, “I know you’re in there. There is nowhere to run. Give me the Prince and I will let you live,”

Jaime stood from the ‘Prince’, “no,” he said, his reply echoing in the dark empty dragonpit.

He drew his sword from the scabbard at his hip then and the sound echoed.

She laughed, “you want to fight me?” she asked, “and why should I when I have a dragon,” Jaime tightened his grip on the sword as the ground rumbled with the heavy steps of the dragon. He held his breath as he saw the monstrous creature enter the pit. As it walked in, Jaime could see the silhouette of its rider, still on its back, “when at my command, she can burn you alive,” she said, softer now that she was within the pit and her voice echoed.

His eyes, having adjusted in the dark, took in the large looming shape of the beast. Its head was turned to Jaime despite the darkness and Jaime knew the dragon could see him.

_It’s time, Cadder._

Jaime gripped his sword, holding it before him, “you really have a death wish, don’t you?” she drawled lazily.

The dragon approached, now fully within the pit. Jaime was momentarily blinded, convinced he would be burned, as he glimpsed fire. But as he blinked, he realised the dragon was only threatening him. Fire burned within its closed jaw, its light shining through its bared teeth, casting frightening shadows around them.

_Cadder, now… what are you waiting for?_

Jaime glimpsed the rider craning her neck as she spotted the head of the silver headed boy seated behind him, “Prince Jaehaerys, I heard you are brave. Is it a lie for you are hiding behind an old, crippled knight?”

“An old crippled knight who is going to kill you,” Jaime said softly.

She raised a brow at him, laughing, “at my command, you will be burned to ashes. Are you dull?” she snapped.

The dragon growled.

“Burn me and you will kill the Prince as well,” Jaime snapped, “then you will have nothing as pawn against the King and Queen and they will kill you-“

She laughed, “well, maybe you aren’t as dull as you sound,” at her bidding, her dragon approached slowly, quietly, as how a cat might approach its prey, “but you forget that fire is not a dragon’s only weapon,”

Jaime tensed as the dragon approached and he could see the sharp edges of its teeth.

“I didn’t forget,” Jaime said thickly, “you can burn me, you can have your dragon tear me to shreds,” he said.

A sudden calm came over him as a distant rumbling could be heard beneath them. The dragon perked up, as did the rider on its back. She frowned, glancing around her, confused before she looked to him.

“But you and your dragon will never leave this pit alive,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widened and she turned to properly look at the Prince behind him, unmoving and still slouched against the wall since she came in. Realisation dawned on her then. He could see the horror in those purple eyes, the fear that would not be there if those same eyes were lighter; lilac, if she rode not a silver but a black dragon. 

Wildfire burst forth from beneath the ground, engulfing them. He heard the dragon roar as his rider screamed in horror.

The dragonpit collapsed. The heavy stones fell, crushing them. Then then everything went black.

**_Jon_ **

Ahead, he glimpsed the red of the stones of the Red Keep; they were approaching King’s Landing. He glanced to Daenerys, worried. She was staring forward towards the Red Keep. Her lilac eyes were set, determined, her lips pulled in a frown; she was a fighter as she always had been. Only her pale visage gave away the pain she was in and she was getting increasingly paler with every moment they spent in the air. He saw her grimace as Drogon jostled her, the dragon in pain as well. Her grimace was only a second as she hid it from him, but Jon knew for her to even let slip a grimace past her mask, she was in agony.

The thought clawed at his heart but he knew she would not stop to rest; they could not. Everything they had was at stake and Jon knew the only thing he could do now was to fight with her and protect her, as long as she would allow him to.

As they neared, Jon frowned. Below, Jon could not see or hear the usual bustle of the city and smoke was rising from various houses in the city. In the direction of the dragonpit, the smoke rose the thickest.

_We are too late._

Jon glanced to Daenerys to see his worry reflected on her face.

Daenerys guided Drogon towards the Keep. As they came over the Keep, there were scattered, dying fires in the outer yard and bodies covered the yard. Below, the survivors within the Keep looked up at them, all armoured in red.

 _Lannisters._  

Rhaegal landed on the battlements of the Keep and Jon dismounted, allowing Rhaegal to lower him to the ground with his foreleg. Jon jumped off before Rhaegal could touch his wing to the ground. He stumbled and ran towards where Daenerys and Drogon was landing. Men stumbled aside as the dragon made to land in the middle of the yard.  

The black dragon screeched, his body heaving with the effort to land lightly. Jon shielded his eyes against the sand that Drogon’s wings stirred. Drogon landed on his good leg, making the ground tremor, before staggering from his own immense weight and falling onto his belly, panting. On his back, Daenerys was hunched over Drogon and Jon quickly climbed up the spikes on the side of Drogon.

Daenerys still clutched the spikes and was hunched over Drogon as he came to her, her face lowered and hidden, “Dany,” he hesitantly touched her back, alarmed to feel her trembling. When she turned to look at him, all the colour was gone from her cheeks and lips, “come on, you need to rest,” he stepped up and closer to her as he snaked his arm around her, making to guide her off the dragon.

“Jaehaerys,” she whispered before she sat up slowly, a furrow forming between her brows. He helped her down from Drogon and as they turned, they realised the Lannister men were there and on their knees.

“My King, my Queen,” the men greeted.

Jon gestured hastily for them to rise, holding Daenerys around the shoulders to him. She limped beside him and he was glad she took his offered free hand for support as she walked. They stopped before the soldier closest to them, “rise. What happened here?” Daenerys asked, the steel of a Queen in her voice despite her trembling body.

The soldiers rose and the one before them dipped his head before he said, “a dragon, your Grace; but it flew away and did not return. And sellswords,” they followed his gaze across the bodies that littered the outer yard and noticed foreign men amongst them; dressed in leather armour rather than metal plate. Daenerys limped to approach one and Jon supported her along. He felt her clutched his hand tighter as she stopped before the body of a sellsword, looking at his armour. On his chest was the sigil of a broken sword.

“The Second Sons,” she muttered. _They betrayed her._

Jon saw the familiar look in her eyes; anger, sadness and some guilt, and he squeezed her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts that he knew would only eat her up inside. She blinked and he was relieved to feel her lean against him, just barely but she did. When she turned to look at him, he shook his head gently, his eyes fixed firmly on hers.

_This is not your fault._

She dropped her gaze, “dragon…” she mumbled before she turned to the soldier, “what did it look like? And the rider,”

“White, your Grace. Silver. The rider is a woman, black hair, purple eyes,”

Daenerys stiffened beside him. The dragon that had flown away from them, taking Daemon Blackfyre, was dark; Moonlight, Daenerys had called it. _This is another one._

Jon glanced to Rhaegal. The jade green dragon was nudging Drogon with his snout gently while Drogon rested on the ground. Jon reached for Rhaegal with his mind and felt his mind touch the warm, separate but familiar presence of Rhaegal’s.

 _Stay close, boy._  

Rhaegal’s bronze eyes glanced to him and purred before turning to Drogon again and Jon felt a fierce sense of protectiveness come over him.

“Where is the Prince?” Daenerys asked then, her voice strained and Jon turned to look at the soldier, tensed.

The soldier’s eyes darted around him before he said, “the rider was looking for the Prince and she sent the sellsword to scour the Keep for him but they were unable to find him before she flew away,”

Relief filled him to know Jaehaerys was not taken by the Blackfyres, then he frowned, puzzled, “why did she leave?”

“Lord Lannister offered to help her look for the Prince but he escaped instead, with the Prince. She went after him and did not return since,”

Daenerys limped forward and the soldier bowed hurriedly, afraid to have offended her, “where is Tyrion now?”

The soldier frowned, puzzled, “the Lord Hand was injured in the fighting and is with Maester Samwell,”

“Then where is the Prince?” Daenerys demanded.

The furrows between the soldier’s brows smoothened as he said quickly, “apologies, your Grace. Lord Jaime was the one who took the Prince and escaped,”

A rage filled Jon at his words. _Jaime Lannister… he dared return-_

“Ser Jaime?” Daenerys whispered and he felt her relax as she heard and Jon tensed. Jon glanced to her, realising he had not told her that Jaime was one of those suspected to have poisoned her; he had not told her much of anything regarding her poisoning, beyond what she found out for herself, and she did not have time to ask before they argued over Arianne Martell’s death. He had left for war then.

_She trusted him. With our son’s life. My pure, kind wife…_

Jon considered telling her now, that some evidence pointed to Jaime as the culprit of her poisoning, and the death of their daughter. But as she turned to him and smiled a small smile, gaining some slight relief that Jaehaerys was at least protected, Jon did not have the heart to tell her; there was no point worrying her.

_Sam had said Jaime Lannister could not have done it and the only thing that pointed to his involvement was Arianne Martell’s confession; the confession of a dead woman. And regardless, Jaime Lannister already has Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys’ life is in his hand now._

“Jaime will protect him and bring him back as soon as he can,” Daenerys said softly, her eyes hopeful as she looked at him. Jon forced a smile and could only nod. Then she frowned, “but with the dragon hunting them-“

“The dragon is not in the city anymore, Dany,” Jon pointed out, set on reassuring her, “and Jaehaerys could be hiding in any one of those streets or houses. If Jaime Lannister should fail, the people would protect Jaehaerys, they love him,” Daenerys pondered before she nodded. It would not be easy to find someone from atop dragon back, especially in a city and Jon himself took comfort in that as he said to comfort Daenerys, “now, you need to let Sam have a look at you,” Daenerys made to protest but at his look of plea, she nodded.  

Jon looked to the soldier and he glanced between him and Daenerys before he nodded made to run off, presumably to summon the Maester but Daenerys stopped him, “no, where is he tending to the other injured soldiers? We’ll go to him,” _no doubt Sam would have his hands full now._

The soldier nodded, “in the middle bailey,” he pointed.

Daenerys began to limp forward, leaning heavily on Jon. All around them, soldiers were dragging the dead onto carts; fallen allies on one and enemies on the other. Others helped the injured, guiding them to rest or dressing their wounds. They made it to the stables and Jon stopped Daenerys as she made to descend the steps, “let me carry you,” she stiffened at his suggestion. _There are men around._ He knew she was thinking. Jon took her face in his hands gently, “I don’t want you to hurt yourself more than you already are. Please, Daenerys. Let others think what they will of us. I’m tired of pretending. Who says a King cannot and should not love his Queen? I love you and it is plain to everyone who need only look at us,”

She hesitated, glancing to the steps before she nodded, averting his eyes. He smiled and slipped his arm under her knees, taking her in his arms gently. Her face twitched from the pain as he lifted her into his arms and he pressed an apologetic kiss to her cheek before he began walking down the steps. From the steps, Jon could see injured soldiers being treated, lying on the ground. As they approached, Jon wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood and death. _This is no place for a Queen._ The soldiers suffering from varying degrees of injury were groaning; from the loss of a limb to those with a bandaged arm. Glancing at Daenerys, he only saw concern in her eyes for the men; there was no disgust or disdain.

_This is exactly where she wanted to be, not high in the Keep in her private chambers; not now, in a time of war where these soldiers fought, bled and died for us._

A soldier on the ground opened his eyes and saw them. He groaned and made to rise, “y-your g-g-graces,”

“No,” Daenerys said gently but firmly, “rest,” the soldier’s eyes darted from her to Jon before he nodded tentatively and lay back.

“Sam,” Jon called as he approached. Sam turned and rose from checking on a chest wound of an unconscious soldier. Sam’s eyes widened when he saw them and he quickly approached, “would you have a look at-“

“J-your Grace, you’ve return! And of course!” Sam looked over Daenerys, immediately noticing her pale face. He glanced about before he put away his potions and equipment on the trolley, vacating the bench. He laid it out with a fresh sheet over it before gesturing to it.

“Where is the Grand Maester Julian?” Jon asked as he gently put Daenerys on the bench, watching her face the whole time. But Daenerys barely blinked as he set her down.

“He was killed when he refused to go with the sellswords,” Sam muttered, averting his eyes. Then he turned to Daenerys, “where is the pain, your Grace?” Sam asked, looking over her.

Daenerys gestured to her leg. Sam looked to her for permission and when Daenerys nodded, giving it, he lightly pressed his fingers to just under her knee and Daenerys tensed and hissed. Sam shot her an apologetic look as his fingers continued and pressed over her lower leg to her ankle. Daenerys stared ahead vacantly, her jaw clenched tightly, her hands fists at her side.

“How did you get injured, your Grace?” Sam asked, frowning.

Jon watched Daenerys release a breath then, her breathing now quick and shallow, beads of cold sweat breaking on her forehead from Sam’s examination, “Drogon fell, I stayed on him but…”

Sam nodded and he turned to his trolley, “I don’t think you’ve broken your leg but there definitely is some damage done, probably some cracks on the bone. I can give you milk of the poppy-“

“No,” Daenerys said immediately and Jon frowned, sitting at the edge of the bench before her.

“Dany-“ he began his plea.

“No, Jon. I need to be completely awake now, you know that,” her lilac eyes shone and hardened as she told him firmly. _We are at war._ She meant to say but Jon knew she did not want to alarm the injured soldiers around them.

 _She’s right._ Jon gritted his teeth before turning away from her. Sam glanced between them, placing the jar back on the trolley tentatively, “is there anything else you can do for her, Sam?” he asked quietly.

“I can make something to support her leg,” Sam glanced to him before he looked to Daenerys, “but it will do nothing for the pain, your Grace, which will only get worse,”

Jon frowned and made to speak but before he could, Daenerys nodded dismissively, “do it quickly,” Sam gestured to a young boy and said something to him. The boy nodded and ran off. “How is Tyrion?” Daenerys asked. Sam frowned and turned his gaze behind him. They turned and Jon blanched. Tyrion was lying on a sheet on the floor. His face was filled with bruises and swollen. His nose was evidently broken and his head was wrapped with bloodied bandages. Daenerys shifted and made to stand but Jon placed a hand on her arm, shaking his head. She asked instead, “what happened to him? Will he be alright?”

Sam nodded, “he was hit in the head a couple of times and was unconscious when we found him. He has been like this since. I have treated all that I can,”

“When will he wake?” Jon approached, standing over Tyrion, worried.

Sam shrugged, “it’s hard to tell. I have given him milk of the poppy for the pain, it is probably best to let him sleep off the injuries,”

Daenerys nodded, “let him rest-“ she paused as her eyes fell to the approaching people from the Holdfast, “Missandei!” Daenerys whispered and almost hopped from the bench but Jon stopped her.

“Your Grace,” Missandei looked up and came quickly. Jon stepped back as Missandei came before her. Daenerys smiled in relief to see her handmaid and confidante, pulling her down into a hug.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Daenerys asked as they parted, her lilac eyes searching her for injuries.

Missandei shook her head, “a few of the handmaidens hid in a small chamber and bolted the door. The sellsword could not enter,” Daenerys smiled, proud and relieved.

Then Lannister soldiers approached from the direction of the Holdfast, “Maester!” one of the men called urgently. Between them, they seemed to be dragging some injured soldiers.

Sam glanced to him and Daenerys. Jon gestured, “go on,” Sam hurried to them, directing the men to lay the injured over the sheets on the ground, seeming to be juggling the sheets and the potions. Missandei glanced to Daenerys and at her nod, Missandei went away to assist Sam. Jon came back to sit beside her on the bench. She watched him, forcing a slight smile and he returned it. Her face was no longer pale, some colour returning to her cheeks. Glad she was resting now at least, Jon gently took her hand in his, “does it still hurt?” he glanced to her leg. She closed her eyes and shook her head, “and that?” he looked to her middle where he knew the bruise still sat.

He saw her tense before she shook her head, “not so much now,” she averted his eyes and Jon knew he had brought back memories of her captivity. Jon had looked into her eyes and from the time he found her in Meereen till now, in the Red Keep, he did not see even a hint of fear. But as he looked at her now, her jaw tensing just the slightest bit as a man walked past behind her, her eyes darting to the stranger, her hand always a trembling fist in her lap; he realised she was afraid. But she would be strong for she was not a mere woman; she was a Queen.

A lump formed in his throat at the thought of Daenerys, his wife, at the mercy of another man and what he has done to her. Jon scooted closer, gently pulling her into his arms. Daenerys hesitated. She glanced at him as if assuring herself before she leant closer, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“I’m here, Dany,” he whispered into her ear, “no one can hurt you now,” he glimpsed a smile on her lips as she pressed her forehead to his shoulder. She nodded stiffly and he gently stroked her back.

They both startled when they heard a shout, “Jaehaerys!”

Daenerys drew back from him, looking up with a smile, expectant and Jon turned, similarly expecting to see their son but it was not. Nonetheless, Jon gently let go of her and rose. From the direction of the Holdfast, men approached, bringing more injured. Beside one, with her arm over his shoulder, a soldier brought Arya.

She had a large gash over her lip and on her forehead. Her clothes were coated in blood. Her grey eyes searched the yard frantically before they settled on him. Then her eyes fell behind him, on Daenerys. Her eyes widened and she pulled her arm from the surprised soldier. Arya staggered towards them and Jon approached her, worried for her. He caught her just as she stumbled forward, “Arya-“

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she cried. Her face had splatters of blood on it. He froze, “I promised to protect Jae and now…”

“No…” Jon sighed but Arya pushed past him and staggered to Daenerys.

“Dany,” she whispered. Jon turned, trying to hold onto her but could not as she stumbled to her knees before Daenerys. Daenerys held her on the arm to help her rise but Arya grabbed her hands in hers instead. She said thickly, “I’m so sorry… I told him to run, with Suvion, and I thought he will be-“

“Jaehaerys will be fine,” Daenerys interrupted, pulling her hands from hers and taking Arya’s face in her hands. Arya cried and shook her head. Jon had never seen Arya so afraid and broken, even as a little girl she was always strong, “Arya,” Daenerys said gently but firmly, “he will be alright,”

Arya paused, her wide grey eyes looking at Daenerys, “the soldiers said he was nowhere to be found-“

“Jaime has taken him and he will protect Jaehaerys, him and Suvion will protect Jaehaerys,” Daenerys told her softly.

“T-taken him?” Arya stammered, “where will Jaime Lannister take Jaehaerys? Huh?” she demanded and turned to Jon. Daenerys followed her gaze.

Jon said calmly, “we think he could still be in the city-“

Arya shot up then, “I’ll go look for him,” she turned but Jon quickly grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“No,” Jon said, “you will stay here and have your injuries tended to,” he glanced worriedly to the gash above her brow, “I will go,” he said.

“We will go,” Daenerys spoke then and he shifted his gaze to her. _Don’t leave me again. Never._ He had promised. Jon glanced to her leg but the look in her eyes told him she would be coming along regardless of what he would say. Looking at her now, Jon, himself, was not sure if he _could_ leave Daenerys.

Jon nodded but Arya clutched his arm, “no, I will be going as well. I am the one who lost him-“

“You didn’t, you told him to run to protect him,” Jon said softly.

“I will be coming,” Arya snapped and Jon sighed. He agreed reluctantly on the condition that she allowed Sam to tend to her first. And Arya allowed it. Jon sat by Daenerys as Sam came to her and secured two wooden staves to her leg. As he wrapped the bandage around her leg, securing it, Daenerys’ face twitched just slightly. Jon squeezed her hand knowing it hurts to have her leg handled. Daenerys forced a weak smile at him.

“Try it, your Grace,” Sam stepped back and Jon offered his hand and he met her eye. The soldiers were looking. Daenerys slipped her hand into his, slowly, deliberately and the edge of his lips twitched. _Let it be known in history that King Jon loved his Queen Daenerys._ He held her firmly around her waist as she carefully placed her feet on the ground. As she stood, Jon found himself watching her face carefully while she placed tentative weight on her injured leg.

Eventually, she looked up and nodded to Sam, giving him a small, beautiful, smile, “thank you, Sam,” she looked ethereal with a rare smile on her face.

Sam blinked, slightly frantic as he replied, “oh no, your Grace,” Jon smiled at him as he bowed quickly and turned to attend to another. The years did little to change Sam; the pretty girls still made him nervous even if it was the Queen whose health he had attended to for years.

Jon turned to her as she did to him, evident in her intention to look for Jaehaerys, “are you sure?” he asked, glancing worriedly at her leg.

Daenerys said, “it’s not just about Jaehaerys. We weren’t here when our people needed us… they deserve to see us now,” and Jon found he could only agree. Arya rose when she saw them turn to leave and Jon sighed. Arya had thick bandages around her head and Jon saw Sam bandaging her arm as well, now concealed by her loose sleeve. Daenerys turned to a page boy who seemed unharmed. She told him to stack carts with food and medicine and meet them at the gates with horses to pull these carts. He nodded and took off.

As they came to the outer yard, Arya’s eyes widened at the sight of Drogon flat on his belly in the middle. Rhaegal was flying overhead, screeching. Daenerys approached without hesitation and placed a hand on his snout.

Drogon wheezed, opening a molten eye and looking at her.

“ _ēdrugon, ñuha riña_ (rest, my child),” Daenerys said to him, stroking his snout. Drogon purred, a noise from low in his body, and closed his eye. Daenerys limped slowly to Drogon’s side, now able to walk without support from him but Jon still felt an impulse; that he had to stifle, to hold her nonetheless.

She came to Drogon’s side, gently touching the foreleg on his wing. Drogon huffed but did not shift his wing from her. The flesh on it was blackened but the blood oozing from it has stopped. Daenerys then came to his leg. She knelt by his mutilated leg. Black blood pooled around it and it was still steaming, boiling hot.

Unafraid, Daenerys gently touched the gaping flesh that Jon knew was immensely hot, hot enough to scald him if Jon were to touch him. Drogon did not respond to her touch and Daenerys’ hand drew away coated in black blood. Jon glimpsed her lips tremble, her eyes wide, tearing, as she took in the sight and feel of the blood of her child. Daenerys steeled herself then and pressed her lips together, “ _istis ōdrikagon olvie. Iksan vaoreznuni_ _ñuha riña_ (it must hurt a lot. I’m sorry, my child),” she stood gingerly, holding Drogon for support. Drogon purred weakly.

The men she had ordered for was waiting for them at the gates. There were three of them and all of them led a horse that dragged a cart each, filled to the brim with medicine supplies and food. With one last glance and a pet on his snout, Daenerys turned from Drogon. She nodded to the page boys and they proceeded out of the keep. Jon fell in step with Daenerys as he felt another presence touch his mind. He startled and beside him, Daenerys turned to him curiously.

Jon felt a foreign fear blossom in his chest. Daenerys placed a gentle hand on his arm and he took her hand in his, hurriedly, confused. Then a screech overhead turned their attention upwards.

Rhaegal flew overhead, circling them and realisation dawned on Jon. Rhaegal was afraid, for them and he told Jon; for the first time, Rhaegal reached for him. Ghost had never done this before, never tried to find Jon with his mind, nor has Ghost told him anything. As Jon gazed up at Rhaegal, marvelling at the magnificent beast that was less beast as Jon knew him more. Daenerys was right; _they are not beasts._

Jon reached for Rhaegal and touched his mind with his own, assuring him. Jon felt a fierce protectiveness from the dragon before Rhaegal withdrew from him. Jon watched Rhaegal circle them for a moment longer, wondering if he would ever bond with Rhaegal as he did with Ghost. Even in his dream, Jon was never Rhaegal as he could be Ghost; Jon had never known what it was like to have fire in his belly, to have wings that could take him into the skies as he wished.

 _Easy, boy._ Jon thought as he tore his gaze from Rhaegal to see Daenerys looking to him worriedly, her hand still held in his from his short, bizarre feeling of fear from Rhaegal. He loosened his hold on her hand, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand, shaking his head. He would talk to her later and tell her all about it but now, Jaehaerys needed them; the people needed them.

Daenerys hesitated before she proceeded down to the city, after the men who went ahead with Arya.

It did not take them long to come across the first body of a peasant. It was charred. Daenerys’ eyes lingered on the disfigured body before she continued walking deeper into the city. On the way they saw more and more bodies that only made Arya walked faster ahead, her eyes wide and searching. Houses and shops were razed, blackened and some still burning.

Daenerys followed the trail of bodies hesitantly and they eventually found themselves walking towards Flea bottom. The drains that Jon ordered built had a small but steady stream of blood in them and he glimpsed Daenerys’ jaw clenching as she saw it as well. The houses lining the streets had their doors and their windows firmly shut and the streets were empty but for the bodies. As they went deeper into Flea bottom, Daenerys paused.

Jon glanced to her, looking around for what caught her attention before he heard sobbing. He met her eye momentarily before they both turned the corner purposefully and they paused. The people were huddled by the side of the streets, some crying loudly over the bodies of their loved ones, others quietly sobbing in pain over their own wounds. The ones closest to them looked up at them.

Daenerys met the eye of a filthy young man. He was cradling his bloodied arm to his chest. It was twisted at an unnatural angle. Daenerys approached him slowly. Jon glanced to see most of the peasants’ eyes were on them now, no doubt drawn to Daenerys’ silver hair, recognising her to be their Queen. Even those who have not met her in the Tourney knew she had silver hair, purple eyes and was beautiful. Jon found himself clutching the hilt of Longclaw at his side as he saw the look in their eyes. Their gaze were not that of love. They were wary, angry and distraught; and rightfully so but Jon knew he would do anything to protect Daenerys.

Beside him, Daenerys was oblivious to the danger that was so apparent to Jon; her heart had no place for fear when she ached for them. She loved them, as they used to love her. Her eyes were fixed on the young man. She reached for him and the man stiffened but made no move to run from her or push her away. As her hand touched his uninjured arm, he relaxed, “is your arm hurt?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his body for other wounds.

The man stared at her before nodded wordlessly, cautious. Daenerys turned to the men who led the horses dragging the carts and she nodded to him. The page boy hurriedly ran to grab bandages and potions for the peasant. She turned to the other peasants who watched them cautiously from a distance.

“I am sorry, for what happened,” Daenerys said, looking to them, “that I was not here to protect you, all of you,” her eyes welled with a hint of tears and Jon kept close to her side, one hand on the hilt of Longclaw and the other on her arm.

The people neither responded nor moved and Jon tensed. If even one of them were to attack, throwing stones, he would remove Daenerys at once. He glanced around him, alarmed to realise that Arya was nowhere to be found. Panic clawed at him. Then overhead, a beat of wings was heard, soothing his panic somewhat. _Rhaegal._

The people tensed visibly and some screamed, ducking to the side.

“It’s alright, it is the King’s dragon!” Daenerys stepped forward, holding her hands out to them in assurance, “I brought food, and potions,” Daenerys glanced back to the carts, “I know it can do nothing for your dead but at least for you,” her voice died down as the people still regarded them cautiously, some scooting away, some glaring. Most of them were looking up fearfully at Rhaegal.

But Jon would not send Rhaegal away, not when he knew that the possibility of the people rioting against them now was very real. Both he and Daenerys were vulnerable and the love of the people has always been fickle.  

To his dismay, Daenerys left his side and went to fetch some bread from the cart. Then she took another step closer to the people, “please. I know you must be hungry, your children must be-“

“Eh!” a woman hissed and lunged forward to grab her child but the little boy, about Jaehaerys’ age, ran from her. He ran towards them eagerly, seeing the bread Daenerys held. As he came to Daenerys, she crouched gingerly. The boy regarded her hesitantly, his eyes constantly darting to the bread in her hands.

“Here you go,” Daenerys smiled sadly at the boy, offering the bread. He was wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare shorts. His little body was covered in soot, dirt and some blood. The boy searched her eyes for a moment before he all but snatched the bread out of her hand. He tore into it hungrily, “shhh, slowly,” she gently touched his black hair, “there is more,”

The boy nodded absently as he ate, stuffing it into his little mouth.

The mother stood a distance from the boy. She was running to yank the boy back when Daenerys had given him the bread, which he now ate, famished. The mother had stopped as she watched her son eat happily. She slowly approached and Daenerys looked up, meeting her eye, “please,” then Daenerys looked to the people behind her.

They were still cautious but the anger seemed to have left their eyes, replaced by fatigue. One by one, they slowly approached, mothers carrying their injured child, injured men holding onto their wives for support. Jon released his hold on Longclaw as a woman before him stumbled, a child in her arms. He caught her around the shoulders and helped her to the carts.

Daenerys smiled sadly at the people as they looked at her before going to the cart. A woman bowed to her in thanks, food and medicine in hand. Daenerys shook her head and smiled. As the supplies on the cart began diminishing, Jon sent the men back for more, ordering for more men and for supplies to be taken from the royal store and to be brought all over the city to provide aid.

He turned, eyes searching for Daenerys, to see her crouching to pick up a child from the ground. This child was thin and tired. As she sat the child on her hips, Daenerys looked about for the child’s parents.

“Where is Mother and Father?” Daenerys whispered softly to the child as she limped to the cart, handing the child some food. The child nibbled on the bread, a frown on her face as she pointed down the street. Daenerys began walking in the direction she pointed and Jon frowned, following, “where?” Daenerys asked again and the child looked at her with wide round brown eyes. Then she quietly pointed to the side.

They turned and the breath left his lungs audibly as they only saw two bodies, one of a man and a woman. The man was sprawled on the concrete, blood flowing from the wound on his stomach. The woman was on her stomach, deep gashes, evidently from swords, on her back. Daenerys let out a shaky breath as she held the child closer, her hand coming up to the back of the child’s head, cradling her head to her shoulder and away from the sight of her dead parents.

The child propped her chin on Daenerys’ shoulder, her thin arms wrapped around Daenerys’ neck. Daenerys rubbed her back as she looked to Jon, helplessly.

“Jon,” she whispered, her voice trembling. He stepped closer to her, placing his hand on her shoulder, “where is Jaime? Where is Jaehaerys?” she asked him, shaking her head. Her eyes welled up with tears and Jon caught the first tear that fell on the crook of his index finger.

“Our son is strong, and smart, and brave,” Jon said, struggling to keep his faith and to keep his voice steady. She choked, swallowing a sob, “he’ll be fine, you’ll see. He has Suvion with him and Suvion would die before he will allow anything to happen to Jaehaerys,”

“If Jaehaerys is alive, if he is hiding, he would have seen Rhaegal and he would have come to us by now,” Daenerys said thickly, “but-“

“No,” Jon said fiercely. He took a step closer, pulling her to him, “Jaehaerys is alive,” he cupped her cheek, “I know it,”

Daenerys’ lilac eyes searched his; desperate for hope and he knew she would see it in his. If Jon knew anything of his son, it was that Jaehaerys was stubborn and smart. No one could make him do what he truly did not want to and if Jaehaerys wanted to hide, he would and with his intellect, he will do so, very well. Jon knew for as long as he did not see his son’s body with his own two eyes, he would believe Jaehaerys was alive. Daenerys bit her lips and nodded.

Jon forced a smile, wiping her tears away gently with his thumb.

More and more people came forth, collecting food and medicine as more carts were brought from the Red Keep to help the people. Entrusting the child with a mother who has a son of her own, Daenerys and Jon proceeded down the streets of Flea bottom, looking for any more sick and injured who needed help. All the while, Jon prayed as they turned the corners of the street, that on the next, they would see their son.

As they came to the street of the sisters, Jon looked towards the dragonpit. When they had first arrived, thick smoke came from the dragonpit but they did not have the time or the strength to investigate at that time. At the moment, from the thinner but steady stream of smoke coming from that direction, it was evident whatever happened there was settling. Silently, they proceeded towards the dragonpit. He glanced up to catch a glimpse of Rhaegal amongst the clouds.

The dragonpit was barely recognisable even from a distance and Jon knew the destruction would only be worse when they got closer. They stepped over and around stones that could only be pieces of the destroyed dragonpit. The dragonpit was a little more than a pile of rubble, worse than from before when they took the Iron Throne and Jon had it rebuilt.

As they approached, they glimpsed a man sitting before the rubble. Jon’s hand flew to his hilt instinctively and he walked a step ahead of Daenerys. From above, Rhaegal, probably sensing his apprehension, emerged from the clouds, screeching. The man seemed to have heard Rhaegal, looking up. Then he turned to them.

“Cadder,” Daenerys said, surprised. Jon recognised him as well, from that day in the Streets of Steel and again at the Tourney. He had greeted Daenerys then, when he was knighted and Jon had been watching from the tents. Jaime Lannister had knighted him.

“Your Graces,” Cadder greeted thickly. He wiped at his eyes and quickly got his feet, bowing to them.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked as they approached him. He was wearing his armour, with his longsword at his hip.

Cadder blanched and his eyes darted to the rubble, “I-I came to see…” he closed his eyes in shame and Jon frowned in puzzlement. When he opened his eyes, his eyes were fixed to their feet as he muttered, “I did this,”

Daenerys raised her brows, “why?”

Cadder let out a shaky breath and ran his hand over his face roughly, “I didn’t know, I swear. I didn’t know what it meant until I saw the barrels, how many there were...” the furrows between his brows deepened and Jon was alarmed to see tears fill his eyes, “but at that time, I could not go back on my word. I promised I would do it and I know what it would mean for the people if I did not…” his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

“Cadder,” Jon took a step forward and held his shoulders firmly, “slowly lad, tell us what happened?” he said in a measured, calm tone.

“S-Ser J-Jaime,” Cadder managed and Jon froze as the meaning of his words sank in. Beside him, Daenerys paled. _Jaehaerys._ Her eyes widened and darted to the dragonpit.

She stepped forward and turned Cadder to look at her, “Cadder, what happened here?” she asked urgently, “Cadder!”

The young lad blinked away the tears, looking at Daenerys. He sniffed and swallowed before he said, “Ser Jaime told me to go into the underground tunnel once I saw the dragon going to the dragonpit, after him. He said I was to light a short candle on the edge of a string on one of the barrels. I did not understand what he had meant at that time but when I came to it, I realised they were some sort of explosive-“

“Not explosives,” Daenerys murmured and she turned, dazed, to the dragonpit, “wildfire,”

Jon frowned but then Cadder continued, “then I knew what he meant for me to do and I could not do it, I didn’t want to… but I promised I would help him and… that dragon… it killed so many people, and it will only kill more-“

Jon blinked and he stared agape at the collapsed dragonpit. _A dead dragon lay under the rubble._

“So I lit it and ran,” Cadder closed his eyes.

“Jaime…” Daenerys muttered, her eyes looking at Cadder but were unfocussed.

“He baited the dragon into the pit…” Cadder replied her silent question and he lowered his head then, in shame, “he could not have escaped the blast...not if he were to keep the dragon in the pit with the rider,”

“Baited?” Jon frowned.

Cadder nodded, “he said the woman was looking for the Prince. So he used the body of a boy and dusted his head with flour-“

“And what of Jaehaerys?” Daenerys demanded, her face contorted in worry.

Cadder shook his head, “I never saw the Prince with Ser Jaime. He was alone when I met him,”

Jon looked to the rubble; knowing now Jaime Lannister’s charred body lay within, if there was anything left of his body from the blast of…wildfire-

“He told me my father, the Mad King, kept caches of wildfire all over King’s Landing,” Daenerys started, staring blankly at the rubble, “to protect himself, because fire cannot kill a dragon,” she scoffed and Jon wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “my father wanted to light it when Robert Baratheon came so Jaime killed him to stop it,” Jon had not known this, Daenerys rarely told him what she learned of her family from Jaime Lannister; and now he was dead.

Jon felt little for the man but even he had to admit, Jaime Lannister has changed and was barely recognisable from the cocky man Jon first met back in Winterfell. And now, he is dead.

Jon gazed at Daenerys, squeezing her shoulder as she closed her eyes and turned from the dragonpit. Now, with two dragons remaining to the Blackfyres, both Jon and Daenerys may win and live through this battle yet.

When they came back to Flea Bottom, there was a crowd there, all gathering to collect medicine and food. As they came closer, the people looked at them, no longer angry or cautious. Some had returned Daenerys’ small smile, muttering greetings to her, other bowing.

As the people searched his and Daenerys’ faces, Jon felt he needed to talk to them. He swallowed and glancing at Daenerys, he looked to them, “we know we failed you. You took us for your King and Queen. You trusted us, loved us. And we should have protected all of you,” he looked into the eyes of every one of the people and every single one of them looked back at him, quiet, sombre. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders. They have all lost something; a loved one, or their homes.

Daenerys said then, “we cannot give you back what you have lost but I promise you, we are here now and with every breath in our body we will fight to bring back the peace that once was. We will bring justice to those who have harmed you,” the tender love a Queen had for her people and the fire of a Targaryen behind her words and voice.

Murmurs and nods rose from the crowd.

“So please, keep faith and protect one another,” Jon paused and glanced to Daenerys, wondering if the people should know. She nodded and he continued, “because there will another battle, here, when the Blackfyres come. A battle here in our home and the Queen and I will defend it with everything we have left,”

The people glanced to one another in fear and Jon knew they wondered as he did. _Another battle? How much more could we take before we break?_

“Where are our soldiers?” a voice shouted from behind them.

Jon glanced towards the voice, ashamed. _Scattered. Fighting another war with Dorne; one that I started-_

Daenerys answered, “the Six Kingdoms will come to our aid and in the meantime, if there is to be a battle, the King and I will fight with both our dragons and whatever is left of the Lannister army,” murmurs rose amongst the crowd again, “we know there is not much hope to be had with the numbers but-“

“I can fight!” one voice shouted and a low chorus of agreement rose from the crowd. Daenerys turned to him, surprised.

“We can!” another shouted.

“There are weapons in my shop!” a large burly man said from the back, “we will get our weapons from my shop down in the street of steel and I will join the fight!”

“I can provide weapons as well,” another man shouted. Jon glanced to Daenerys to see tears welling up in her eyes.

The murmurs grew louder and people nodded.

“It will be a bloody battle,” Daenerys said thickly and the crowd hushed, looking to her. She gazed at all of them, her eyes dropping to the children momentarily before she looked to their father and mother, “you may lose your lives, you may lose everything you have,” Jon knew and understood; Daenerys wanted to protect them. They needed the people to fight but Daenerys did not want them to lose more than they already did. Jon watched as the man and woman glanced down to their child before they hung their heads, quiet. The rest of the people seemed to be deep in thought then, realising what was at stake for them.

“Only as you will, my Queen,” an elderly man replied solemnly. Then he turned to the crowd who had grown quiet, snarling at them, “What’s wrong with all of you? Are you all cowards? I am an old man and I will fight! Our King and Queen will risk everything to protect this city and us.” he shouted, “if we do not do the same for them, we will truly be the filths of Flea Bottom that everyone thinks we are,”

Mutters of agreement began to ripple through the crowd.

“This is our city,” a mother cried, her young daughter on her hip, “our home,” she said and Daenerys’ gaze fell to her, “and we will all do what we can for it,” Daenerys managed a small smile and she nodded.

“We will fight with you, my King, my Queen!”

Jon watched in disbelief as the people roared in agreement, pumping their fists in the air. He turned to Daenerys to see her wearing a similar look of disbelief mixed with some pride.

Then the people cheered, converging around them, “King Jon, Queen Daenerys!”

 _Is this what being King and Queen meant?_ Jon gazed at them, smiling as the people chanted their names. They began walking through the crowd, determined to look their people in the eye; peasants some of whom probably has never held a weapon in their lives but are now willing to fight and die alongside their King and Queen in a war.

 _A King or Queen does not merely lead or serve. A King and Queen should be_ with _the people; loving them, guiding them, inspiring them, fighting alongside them and empowering them to protect themselves. Kings and Queens should make the people feel like they can do more than they think they can for themselves._ Daenerys smiled and gently squeezed the hands offered to her, patting shoulders as she passed. Jon clasped the hands of men and nodded respectfully to the woman.

Jon picked up a young boy, practically still a babe, who raised his arms to him wanting to be picked up, and set him on his hips. He felt an ache in him then as he thought of his still missing son. Jon gazed at the boy’s grinning face and wondered: _How could so many Kings have come and gone to not have realised this in their reign?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last 3 chapters left and big chapter coming up next!!!


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut and violence. And one of the most intense chapter I have ever written - both the smut and the violence. ENJOY!!

**_Daenerys_ **

She gazed out the balcony of their chambers. Down below, the streets were lit with activity as the common people prepared for battle. A part of her was deeply moved that the people would fight, with them, for themselves and their home. But another part of her felt like she had failed them. _What kind of Queen am I if I cannot protect my people from those who would harm them?_ The people would be fighting beneath them as she and Jon fought their own battle in the air.

She had warned them it would be a bloody battle and she meant it. Men, women, children and dragons would die in this battle. The drains would be filled with a steady stream of thick red blood for days, and before the smoke of the battle died down, the streets will pile up with bodies of the innocent. She fisted her hands on the parapet of the balcony and closed her eyes. She could still see the vacant eyes of the dead she passed on the way to Flea Bottom, the helplessness in the eyes of a young orphan. _All because I wasn’t here when they needed me._

And it wasn’t just the people. So many others, that she knew and cared for, has died in this war that has crept up on them. Jorah, Varys and Ser Humfrey Hightower, Ser Raymun Darry, Ser Harlan Whent; three brave knights of the Kingsguard who did their duty and protected their Queen. They all gave their lives for her. And Daena, a brave young girl who Daenerys barely knew but was willing to risk it all for her.

Then at the dragonpit. Her breath caught then at the thought of what lay beneath the rubble. Another dragon dead; a life so magical and rare… gone. But Jaime has been trying to do what she failed and he gave his life to see it succeed. Daenerys swallowed at the thought if Jaime has not been there and the dragon has been allowed to raze the city and tear apart the Red Keep till Jaehaerys was found. After her time in Meereen, Daenerys was not sure if she had the strength to fight the Blackfyre if they had Jaehaerys, if they used him as a hostage, a pawn; she might just give them the throne to keep her son, her only child.

Her sweet brave boy. _Where are you, Jaehaerys?_ The last person who saw him was Arya. She had told him to run and he did. Arya herself had gone missing as well, straying away from them in the city, no doubt in search of Jaehaerys. Jon had assured Daenerys that if Jaehaerys was still in Maegor’s Holdfast, he will find him while he set the place right; ready it for war.

 _Muña_ _kostilus, umbagon lēda nyke_ (Mother please, stay with me).

She could still hear his little voice sob out, whimpering for her to stay with him. _It was as if he knew._ Daenerys felt a chill settle deep in her bones as it came to her that Jaehaerys just might; he could have dreamt it. He was terrified to be left alone and his mother has chosen to leave, for duty and leave her son behind; vulnerable, scared and unprotected.

Regret sank deep inside her and she knew if she lived through this war, she would have to live with that choice; even if it tear her apart and gnaw at her for the rest of her days. Then a thought came to her: _who are you to live when so many have died and suffered, for your decisions; for your mistakes._ She closed her eyes against the deep pain, a sort of raw guilt that ate at her, haunting her, daring her to break. _Blood and Fire._ Daemon Blackfyre has taken both from her. Her blood and her fight; her fire. When she closed her eyes, she could still see his purple eyes glinting with lust and a sort of happiness as he gazed at her naked body, the way his silver hair flowed down his back; so terrifyingly beautiful.

Her hands trembled visibly on the parapet and she dug her nails into the concrete and clenched her teeth. _You are Daenerys Stormborn. You are the blood of the dragon-_

“Daenerys,” she heard a familiar voice whisper behind her, almost a sigh.

She made to turn only to feel a firm familiar body up against the back of hers and a smell she loved filled her nostrils and her body with a sort of warmth. A pair of large strong hands circled her waist; one settling gently on her middle and the other lower, on her abdomen. She covered his left on her middle and took his right in hers; she would always choose that one to hold if she could. She traced her thumb over the uneven disfigured flesh on his palm fondly.

“You should be resting, asleep,” he whispered hoarsely, nuzzling her temple with his bearded cheek. It was true. When they returned to Maegor’s Holdfast, Jon had said he will organise whatever men they have and help to ensure the safety of the Holdfast and secure it for the upcoming battle. It was decided between them that Maegor’s Holdfast would house the women and children, with the drawbridge up and the moat filled. All the food and water of the entire Keep will be stored in the Holdfast; enough for them to survive for weeks, months if they rationed. It would keep them alive until help arrived from the other Kingdoms.

Daenerys wanted to go with him but as they climbed the steps, her knee had buckled and Jon caught her just before she could tumble down the steps. Then Jon had told her firmly to return to their chambers, assuring her that he would see it done. She was reluctant but at his reminder that she had a battle she needed to rest to prepare for, she relented; because she saw reason and because she would do as her King and husband bid.

Their chamber was a mess. It has evidently been searched; for Jaehaerys no doubt. Chairs were overturned, the mattress was tossed aside, tapestry was torn off the wall, cupboards were open and sieved through. The handmaids had hurriedly tried to return things back in order for her as she returned to it but Daenerys dismissed them to rest after they set the bed. She would not need the rest of the chambers but that for rest.

She had wanted to rest but instead, she was drawn to the balcony where she stood watching the people below in the city prepare for war. _How could the Queen rest when her people did not?_

“Jaehaerys?” Daenerys asked softly. She already knew the answer for her son was not here with them now.

Jon shook his head, his beard tickling the side of her head. He sighed, “I searched every secret passageway he always used and showed to me, and his favourite hiding spots,” Daenerys tensed, “Jaehaerys is fine, I know it,” Jon said confidently, “he’s not in the Keep but he is alive,”

Daenerys gratefully took the comfort that was Jon, her rock. She turned and gazed up at him, “how can you be so sure?”

Jon smiled softly at her, his right hand coming up to caress her cheek gently, “because… have you met a person as stubborn as Jaehaerys?” Daenerys’ gaze stayed on him meaningfully, a brow raised, and Jon shot her a feign look of offence and the edge of her lips twitched up, “I have not met someone better at running and hiding himself than Jaehaerys. He literally spent his life practicing for this; running from his entourage every chance he got,” Jon chuckled and Daenerys smiled at the sight of his rare smile, “in the least, if he finds a horse, he will be far from here and safe by now, if he finds an arrow, he will put it through the enemies’ eye and God help the man who tries to catch Jaehaerys when he finds a sword,”

“He’s only a baby,” Daenerys’ eyes darted down.

“You saw him ride, shoot and fight,” Jon said gently and she nodded. She did and although he might not win in a fight with grown men, he did not need to. He merely had to fight just enough for him to run; and Daenerys did not think she has met a young boy who ran as fast or as smart as Jaehaerys did. Jon was right, Jaehaerys has always been able to lose his entourage, easily, “ _our_ boy, _our_ son; he’ll survive,” Jon muttered as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, feeling some semblance of hope fill her.

Then she felt his finger on her chin, guiding her to look up at him. He neared her, his breath on her lips and Daenerys felt panic sink its ugly claws into her. She saw a pair of lustful purple eyes. Her eyes flew open as she startled and pushed him away instinctively by his chest.

Jon stumbled back, surprised.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. Her breathing came quick and shallow and her heart was hammering, hard against her chest. Her throat constricted chokingly and she could not breathe. She felt trapped in his room, before a man. Her own husband. _No, what have you done?_ She shook her head at him frantically and she blurted, fearing she had hurt him with her blatant rejection, “Jon, I-I didn’t mean-“

Jon relaxed then as he seemed to realise. He took a slow step to her, hushing her gently, “no, I am sorry,” hesitating, he reached for her. Her wide eyes darted to his hand nervously. For a moment, she thought she saw blood on his fingers in the dim light, her blood. Daenerys flinched and almost withdrew but she heard his warm deep voice say to her, “Daenerys, look at me,” she did and her panicked eyes met soft, calm grey ones. _Not purple._ She felt her breathing begin to slow as she looked into his eyes, _not lust, love,_ “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She blinked as she felt the hesitant touch; a comforting roughness of his hand on her cheek. Looking into his grey eyes, she unwittingly pushed into his touch. _Grey eyes…and his hand felt coarse, scratchy but gentle._ Under his gentle caress, Daenerys turned and pressed a meaningful kiss to his palm, full of promise and filled with want.  

“We don’t have to do anything, Dany,” he told her softly and she found his eyes again. _Grey and soft, warm_ as they gazed at her, “it’s alright, we don’t have to do anything,” he assured, his voice a whisper.

 _My husband, my King. I love him._ And she would have him know, now; before the battle, before they would risk everything. She would show him. She smiled and stepped closer to him. He tensed, his eyes darting down to her lips but he did not move, “I will make love to my husband this night,” she told him decidedly and she heard and felt him release a shaky breath at her words, “it has been too long, my love,” she whispered, her lips merely an inch from his as she stood on her tip toes, her eyes never leaving his. _Grey eyes, not purple._

She felt his hands come up and settle on the curve just above her bottom. _Gentle, not possessively rough or directive._

She closed the distance between them as he did, their lips melting against the other in a slow, almost tentative, kiss. _His skin was rough with a beard, scratching my chin, not smooth._

When she dared to close her eyes, she poured herself into his lips, her hands reached up to bury her fingers into his thick curly locks just as his lips moulded more firmly against her. She gently fisted his hair at the roots and she felt him moan against her mouth. His hands on the small of her back pulled her closer to him.

She felt a slight hint of panic as her body was pressed flushed against his, the hard, growing bulge of his groin on her abdomen. He whispered against her lips, “ _Daenerys_ ,” his breath hot on her face. It’s her name; so wrapped in love. At the sound of it, she melted against his firm, strong body, _Jon’s body, the body of the man I love and of a man who loves me._

Her panic and fear tossed aside, forgotten. Her hands fell to his broad shoulders and she tugged his jerkin aside and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing them both aside impatiently while he unbuttoned her tunic. As he pushed it apart, baring her front to him, he pulled away to gaze at her. His eyes darkened with desire and his breath hitched in his throat. He gazed tenderly at her bare breasts before they dropped to her abdomen and he frowned, “I’ll kill him,” he hissed.

His hand left her hip and his fingertips skimmed over the large ugly bruise on her middle. Daenerys sucked in a shaky breath as his gentle touch set her skin alight with desire in its wake, “no,” she muttered, gazing down at the bruise, “I will,” she told him simply. The edge of his lips twitched, his stormy grey eyes softened and he nodded. His fingers trailed down her abdomen and a lump formed in her throat as his finger hooked on the band of her pants, telling of what he wanted. Her eyes darted over his familiar, scarred torso before they dropped to the telling bulge at his groin. No one else’s body has been able to ignite such love and raw desire in her as his did and Daenerys felt the burn of a wet warmth between her legs, moistening her small clothes.

Jon gently walked her back to the bed. When the back of her knees touched the bed, he eased her back to sit, mindful of her leg. He leaned closer, bringing his knees onto the bed on both sides of her thighs and brought his lips to hers. She sighed as his soft lips kissed her gently and with his lips, he nudged her to lay down. Daenerys went and opened her eyes to look at him; the face of her sweet comely lover. Her shifting shadow. She mused.

She glimpsed him swallow; his adam apple bobbing in his throat before he dipped his head and peppered her bare chest and breasts with soft feather-like kisses. His scarred and calloused hands stroked her sides slowly, gently skimming over her curves, “Daenerys,” he whispered, almost a sigh as his lips came upon the hardened peaks of her breasts, his tongue teasing her.

She jolted as she felt his warm wet tongue on her still sensitive, engorged breasts. She moaned loudly, arching her back and pushing herself firmly against his lips as every nerve in her body was set alight, the sweetness of it pooling between her legs. She shifted, impatiently, now desperate for him. At that moment, his lips stilled. Exasperated, Daenerys gazed down to see him staring at her bruise. Sensing her gaze, he looked up at her; a pained look in his red rimmed eyes but there were no tears, yet.

 _Jon… my sweet King._ “It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered hurriedly, assuring him, “not anymore,” she cupped his bearded cheek, scuffing his beard affectionately with her thumb, “not now, not here with you,”

Jon furrowed his brows before he looked down and pressed a gentle kiss to her bruise. Then another. And another.

“Jon,” she smiled and his eyes darted up, his lips lingering on her skin. She glimpsed his lips curve into a smile against her skin when he saw her smile. His hands then left her waist and undid her pants, kissing every inch of her skin that was exposed to him. He pressed a particularly firm kiss far below her navel before he rose. His face was contorted in utmost concentration as he undid the binds that Sam fixed on her leg, placing the bandages and wooden staves to the side. After which, he gently removed her pants, trying his hardest not to jostle her leg; and he barely did.  

All the while, she gazed at him, wondering how a warrior like Jon, a leader and a King, so fierce on the battlefield, could possess such gentleness. How could the very same hands which wielded a Valyrian steel sword touch her with so much tenderness?

As her pants slipped over her feet and was completely off her, Jon’s eyes fell between her legs and he stared unblinkingly. She shifted, muttering, “Jon,” she said, “what-“

“You’re beautiful,” he sighed, a hint of a smile on his lips, not averting his eyes from her body as he dropped her pants, still in his hand, to the floor.

“You’ve seen me before,” she said, feeling an absurd heat coming to her cheeks under his intense, relentless gaze.

His eyes trailed up her body slowly, lingering on her breasts before they finally met hers, “I love you, Daenerys Stormborn. _tolī ñuha ābrar_ (more than my own life) _,_ ” Jon suddenly said. Her heart skipped a beat and she blinked, stunned. Her husband had just declared his love for her in her mother tongue, _in our mother tongue_ , and Daenerys felt the truth of them straight in her heart. Her lips parted as she wanted to ask how he knew the words, but could not formulate the question through her awe and surprise. He chuckled, “I had Missandei teach it to me,” his face flushed behind his beard, “I thought speaking some High Valyrian to you might wake you, at that time,”

His grey eyes were soft, almost liquid, as he lowered his head to her and she watched curiously. She felt a flint of panic when his hands gently parted her thighs. But he did not give time for the fear to sink in as his lips came upon the aching heat between her legs. She gasped, her hips bucking. Her panic was quickly replaced by intense pleasure as she felt the lovely heat and softness of his mouth between her legs, “Jon!” she moaned as he kissed her. His tongue darted out and licked at the pooling wetness methodologically, slowly.

Daenerys gazed down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, feeling drunk on the pleasure that racked her body with every kiss and lick. She met his grey eyes before his tongue applied a sweet teasing pressure that made her writhe. She threw her head back into the pillow and arched her back, her breathing loud and heavy. Then his gentle but sure fingers came forward to complement his expert, relentless tongue and she moaned and bucked against him uncontrollably. She was completely at his mercy then, open and raw for him, “Jon…”

Soon, she came undone by the doing of her sweet husband. He eased her through the waves of her release and even after, slowing his ministration along with her heavy breathing. Jon drew back and she gazed at him to see his grey eyes, now dark, fixed on her. _Hold me_. She willed herself to speak but found that she was unable to form the words. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth, her body, still trembling from the aftermath, felt numb. However, Jon seemed to understand as he crawled over her.

She placed a shaky hand on his back, pulling him down to her. Jon took her from the bed and into his arms, steadying her against him, holding her together. Daenerys buried her face into the crook of his neck, basking in his musky, familiar scent, “Jon,” she muttered before she trailed the tip of her tongue over his skin. She wanted him, the aching desire for him between her legs far from satiated; and Daenerys knew it wouldn’t, not until she had him. She felt him shiver against her.

“Dany,” he replied, strangely calm and she drew back to gaze at him. He was watching her, a small smile on his lips. She slipped her hands from his back down to his pants. She allowed her fingers to brush over the bulge in his pants as she untied it. She watched, satisfied, when his eyes shifted at her touch and his shoulders tensed. As she gently wrapped her fingers around him firmly, his breath hitched and she could no longer hear him breathe.

She bit her lips, her eyes fixed on his as she stroked him, tugging at him, slowly, deliberately. Jon’s eyes darted between hers momentarily before he pressed his lips to her insistently. She returned his kiss, matching his passion with hers. He took her hand from his length and laced her fingers with his instead. She felt his hand leave the side of her face and he guided himself to her entrance. She sucked in a sharp breath as she felt the tip of him brushing against her wetness.

Jon pulled from the kiss and gazed at her. She glimpsed his soft eyes, thick with desire, harden as he thrusted firmly into her. She moaned softly with him as they fitted together like they always did, from the beginning, on the boat. They knew then as they knew now. _We belong together._ Jon leaned forward, pressing every inch of his body against her and Daenerys melted against him; the one good thing she had in a world of hurt and uncertainty, “ _Daenerys_ ,” he groaned, his voice hoarse and guttural in her ear.  

She whimpered and shifted, desperately seeking the sweet friction in the fullness. Jon knew her desires and he began thrusting at languid pace as first. Every thrust wounded every inch of her body with a desire for more. Then his thrust began to quicken, as did his hot breaths against her neck. He pressed a firm kiss to the soft skin of her shoulder as his thrusts became fiercer and lightning shot through her body, lighting a fire in the pit of her abdomen which exploded within her, making her buck against and constrict around him. She moaned his name, her fingers digging into his strong muscled back. 

He moaned and his eyes closing momentarily at the sensation of her tightening around him. His thrusts became frenzied then, losing its rhythm and she opened her eyes, wanting to see as well as feel his pleasure. As Jon came close to his release; his black eyes found hers and held her gaze intently. _I love you._ She told him with her eyes. She gently took his face in her hands and he pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes remained locked with hers as he spilled inside her and they moaned softly in unison.

Neither moved for a long moment, catching their breath as they gazed at the other. Jon dipped his head then, capturing her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue and a thrill ran through her. Jon broke from the kiss and buried his face into her neck, panting as he kissed her neck clumsily. Daenerys smiled into his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek just beneath his collarbone. She loved him like this; his lips kissing her neck lazily, his beard tickling her skin, his hot breaths slowing down, his body pressed to hers, his weight on her, and him still in her.

“Daenerys…” he whispered hoarsely into her ear before he took the shell of it between his lips, nipping it gently. There was something strange in his voice that she had never heard before; fear. She knew then that as Jon Snow lay here with her after their lovemaking, his heart was open to her and he was vulnerable.

“You’ll survive, Jon,” she said to him. _You always have. I always feared for you but you’d always survive._

He pulled his face from her and she glimpsed anger in his eyes, “I don’t want to,” he growled. Daenerys was appalled and afraid then, afraid for him; his impulsivity, his tendency to do stupid things, to be a hero, “I just want to be where you are. If, on the other side, in the darkness, in the nothingness, there is you, with me; I will be content,” She froze. He had never told her what it was like to be dead; they have never spoken of it beyond what his brothers did to him. Daenerys did not like dwelling on his death and Jon never brought it up.

_Darkness. Nothing._

Jon’s eyes were wide, fearful as she has never seen and she cupped his cheek then, “we will be together,” she said and his eyes darted between hers for a moment before he nodded, “in the darkness, in nothingness, if there is, in the next life, I will find you,” she told him, desperate to provide the comfort he needed and seek in this moment.

She felt his jaw tensed under her hand before he said, a promise, “and I will find you,”

Jon was brought back from the dead, the cold; and not merely for the Great War for it was long over and he was still here, his heart beating strong against hers. And she, Daenerys, survived the hard world she was in and was reborn from the fire. If there is a God and he willed it as such, why would he do such things if not for them to meet? _If not to bring Ice and Fire together?_

“We were thousands of leagues apart once and we found each other then. We will find each other, Jon, we always will. We are meant to be together,” she whispered, caressing the edges of the locks on the nape of his neck affectionately.

“Aye,” Jon told her softly, “nothing can keep me away from you. Not the Blackfyres, not even the Gods,” _Targaryens, like their dragons, answered to neither Gods nor Man,_ she thought as she gazed fondly up at Jon; Aegon, her brother’s son, a dragon and a wolf, “ _Nothing,_ ”

**_Jon_ **

He glanced down to see Daenerys staring out the balcony, her cheek against his shoulder, her bare breasts pressed firmly to his side. Her fingers were tracing lazy circles on his left rib. He had secured the wooden staves for her legs before they cuddled in bed, afraid she would hurt herself in her sleep. But she did not sleep and neither did he. How could he when the threat of war loomed over them and he was so desperate for every moment he had left with her. _Any of them could be our last._

He had been staring at the canopy, thinking about the battle. The soldiers were resting in the throne room, which was now set up as the temporary work station for Sam to treat the wounded but they were already warned to be ready at a moment’s notice.

He caressed her bare back gently. Her skin was incredibly soft and smooth and Jon never want anything to mar her skin; to hurt her. He gazed at the way his disfigured hand scuffed her perfect body. He still remembered how disgusted he had been. How in their first few nights, he used his left when he caressed her, hiding his disfigurement in his right from her. He had not wanted his imperfection to be near her, much less touch her, as if he was not inadequate enough for her. It did not take Daenerys long to notice he used his right to prop himself up or clutched the sheets, never touching her with it.

The night she mounted him, she took his right hand, which was fisted under his pillow while his left ran over her curves. She tangled her perfect fingers with his scarred and stiff ones, feeling his scars. He had been embarrassed and tugged away but she had kissed him then, muttering an order: _Touch me with this hand._ She placed his right scarred hand on her soft breast then and he tentatively caressed her. Her moan of pleasure burned into his mind and from then, Jon never hid it from her.

She wanted him, all of him; even all his scars.

He smiled as the finger on his rib wandered almost habitually to the crescent shaped scar on his chest, over his heart. She traced the shape of it. He chuckled and took her hand with his left. Her eyes darted up to his, confused and petulant to have been interrupted in tracing his scars. He watched, pleased, as the furrows between her brows smoothened when he pressed a kiss to the tip of each of her finger.

“These scars… they are as ugly as they are grotesque,” he said hoarsely.

“They are not ugly or grotesque,” she whispered and she rose on her elbow beside him, pressing her lips to the scar on his abdomen, “I love them as I love you,”

Jon laughed and she looked up at him, her lilac eyes brightened at the sound of his laugh despite the fact that she did not even have a wink of sleep and he could tell she was tired. He grinned at her, “Dany-“

A horn sounded.

Jon felt his heart still and his stomach dropped. His eyes found hers instantly and for a moment, Jon felt an insane urge to steal her away; like how his father stole his mother away. He would steal her and he would hide with her and they would live, together, just the two of them, forever away from wars and politics. The moment he thought it, Jon knew he would never do that. He was Rhaegar Targaryen’s trueborn son but he was Ned Stark’s son first; a man who held honour and duty before love.

His arm loosened around her reluctantly as Daenerys scooted away, her eyes holding his. Jon could see the deep reluctance in her eyes that he felt in his heart. But she went nonetheless.

 _Daenerys; so brave and so selfless. Have she ever had the thought to run away? To do something for herself for once? As I do._ He thought as he watched her limp from the bed to get dressed.

She turned to look at him as she reached for her clothes and she paused. Her brows rose, her eyes pained as she whispered, “Jon, I-“ she blinked and caught herself before the words were out of her mouth. She shook her head and said instead, “the people need us,” something told Jon she was telling herself more than she was telling him. _She felt the same._

Her eyes stayed on him and Jon nodded stiffly. He tore his gaze from hers and slipped out of bed. Without another look at the other, they quickly got dressed, pulling on articles of clothing. Daenerys dressed in a deep red tunic that reached her knees and black pants. As she turned to limp to the door, Jon grabbed her leather armour vest from the chest and stopped her at the door. She let him put it on her, gazing at him as he fastened it over her torso. When he was done, his finger lingered on the last strap and he felt her cup his cheek gently.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she told him. _Not even for me._ He could hear her say and as his eyes darted up to meet hers. She clenched her jaw against the tremble, “don’t be a hero,”

Jon pursed his lips and she leaned forward abruptly, kissing him fiercely. Just as he was beginning to reciprocate, she tore her lips from him and limped past him. He closed his eyes. _Rhaegal._ He called as he left the room after Daenerys.

She limped to the large balcony down the corridor. He joined her. They could hear the beat of large wings. Then Rhaegal and Drogon rose before them just before the parapet, screeching. Drogon landed heavily above them and Rhaegal perched on the side of the Holdfast.

Daenerys limped out into the balcony and gazed up at Drogon. Rhaegal purred at Jon, extending his foreleg. Jon stepped up on it and Rhaegal lifted him. Jon slowly proceeded onto his back, adjusting himself. Above, Daenerys was doing the same. He glimpsed her glance to her leg, in the splint, adjusting it.

“ _Sōves_ ,” they said, their voices coming together almost melodiously in the lilt of their High Valyrian. Their eyes met momentarily before both dragons propelled off the Holdfast and into the night. It is the hour of the wolf and the night was darkest. They thought they would catch them unprepared. Jon glanced to the side, struggling to see Drogon, the black dragon.

As they flew over the yard, Daenerys led Drogon low over the battlements. The Lannister soldiers and remaining Unsullied were in formation and already marching down to the city. They came into the city. The Tyrells and Tullys have arrived earlier in the night upon receiving a raven from Tyrion from before. Jon had instructed them to safeguard the Iron gate, the Dragon gate and the King’s Gate; the three gates closest to the Keep. At all costs, they were to keep the invading army out. If they were to fail, the common people, who filled the streets, and the remaining Lannister and Unsullied soldiers will fight, hindering their progress to the Keep.

From where he was, Jon could hear the thundering of battering rams against the gates; more than one gate. _Gods, how many of them are there?_

They flew low over the people and Drogon roared.

“Queen Daenerys!”

“King Jon!” the people cried, waving their weapons in the air. But they could not linger now. There would be dragons and he and Daenerys had to engage the dragons before-

Another roar was heard, neither from Rhaegal nor Drogon and Jon froze. Men screamed and Jon glanced frantically around to see fire setting the Tullys manning the Dragon Gate alight. They rose into the air quickly and Jon paled. All around the walls of the city, for miles, were the Blackfyre army. They had no uniform and Jon knew they were sellswords, foreign armies. They fought for gold and glory. He turned to the south and paled. The Dornish army crowded the King’s Gate, where the Tyrell men guarded. The Dornish were working with the Blackfyres… _Arianne Martell, was everything she did all for the Blackfyre?_

 _You’ll bring death to your family once I am dead. The Martells will not be the only one to rise against you then._ Her words before she died came to him.

He felt worry claw at him as he thought of Gendry. The presence of the Dornish Army here could only mean Gendry has been overwhelmed; ambushed or betrayed; because Jon had took Rhaegal, their strongest advantage in the war, and left.

Shaking away the thoughts now, Jon led Rhaegal ahead of Drogon towards the dragon destroying their defences at the Dragon Gate. This dragon was much smaller than Drogon but only slightly smaller than Rhaegal. In the dark, its scales were pale. It was burning the men on the battlements. As Rhaegal neared, on Jon’s command, orange-yellow fire burst from Rhaegal. The dragon screeched and flew away, Rhaegal’s fire skimming its tail.

On its back, Jon glimpsed a streak of silver. He watched the dragon fly up before Jon glanced down. It was too late. The gates splintered under the battering ram and men charged into the city. Below, Tully soldiers met them within the city. _Dracarys!_ Rhaegal burned the stream of men coming into the gates.

“JON!”

He glanced up quickly to see the pale dragon descending over him. It opened its jaw and yellow fire poured from it towards him, on Rhaegal’s back. As he considered his options, about to direct Rhaegal into a dive to the ground when he realised there was no time. Then a black shadow cut through the approaching flames, breaking its stream towards him in mid-air.

He followed the shadow. Drogon. He had flew over Rhaegal and Jon, cutting through the flames. He had no doubt the flames touched Daenerys who was on Drogon’s back. He knew it would not hurt her but he ached at the thought nonetheless.

Drogon roared at the pale dragon, rising into the skies, showing no signs of having been harmed by the pale dragon’s fire. Daenerys had told him that the dragons’ scales become tougher and more immune to fire as they grow older. The pale dragon was younger, its flames not as hot as it could be, but Jon knew Drogon escaped burns only because he had not been burned directly. He merely interfered, flying through its fire; the same that would have killed Jon.

Yellow fire met the black one and Jon urged Rhaegal up towards the belly of the pale dragon. _Come on, boy._ Rhaegal approached quickly and quietly. As they neared, Rhaegal’s jaws parted, revealing rows of sharp black teeth, ready to rip into the throat of the pale dragon.

Suddenly, Rhaegal jerked viciously to the side, screeching and pain exploded through Jon’s mind. He shut his eyes against it, clutching on to the spikes frantically. They twisted through the air and as Jon blinked, he glanced to the side to see a dark dragon with its teeth in Rhaegal’s wing, refusing to let go.

 _Moonlight._ He recognised the dragon which departed from Meereen as he arrived. His eyes darted to the rider over the head of the dark dragon. Grey eyes met purple. The rider smirked. _Daemon Blackfyre._

Jon glared at him before glancing to the dragon. Rhaegal roared, struggling to stay in the air while flailing to free himself. Jon snarled and drew Longclaw. Shifting himself, Jon drew back his sword at the dragon, about to plunge Longclaw into its eye. The dark dragon saw him and quickly released Rhaegal.

Rhaegal twisted its neck around, orange flames pouring from his jaws. The dark dragon roared in pain, its underbelly scorched as it tried to escape. Jon could hear the rider shouting angrily in High Valyrian at the dragon before the wind swept away his words. That was when Jon realised they were falling unnaturally quickly.

Jon glanced to Rhaegal’s wing to see that the leathery membrane damaged but not beyond use. Relief came to Jon to see Rhaegal’s foreleg unharmed. _Rhaegal, come on boy, fly!_ Rhaegal screeched and balanced out his body. Rhaegal then arched his neck up, unfurling his wings. He pulled them up, swooping over the ground and his underbelly destroyed the roof of a house.

Bricks and stones broke loose and flew over the streets below.

Jon looked up to see Drogon snapping at the pale dragon. The dark dragon, ignoring Rhaegal as they fell, was heading towards them, coming up under Drogon.

 _Daenerys!_ Jon panicked. Sensing his panic, Rhaegal screeched loudly in warning to his brother and Drogon breathed fire at the pale dragon. When the pale dragon ducked down from the black flames, Drogon flew ahead. The dark dragon’s jaws closed around nothing, missing Drogon’s tail by inches. Jon guided Rhaegal to Drogon as the pale dragon aligned with the dark one.

Jon looked over to see the riders properly. The pale dragon was mounted by an older woman, silver haired, dark eyes. A man rode the dark one, his hair silver and his eyes purple.

“Daenerys,” the man shouted, “your choice of a King is…more disappointing than I initially thought,” he glanced to Jon, “he barely has the looks of a Targaryen and stinks of the North. And he burns like common men,“ the man scowled, “he is an embarrassment and to be riding on a dragon-“

“Just like how you thought Daena was an embarrassment to your blood and to ride a dragon,” Daenerys shot back. Daemon tensed visibly, “so you decided to kill her, your own sister,”

The rider of the pale dragon turned to him, wide-eyed before she turned angry, “you told me she did it,” Daemon scowled at her. The other rider demanded then, “did you kill her to ride her dragon when you got your own dragon killed-“

“SHE KILLED SUNFYRE!” Daemon roared to Daenerys.

Daenerys stared at him, “your dragon did not deserve to die and I am deeply sorry for it,” she told him, “but the fall should have killed you as well-“

The dark dragon let loose a stream of orange black flames and Jon and Daenerys commanded Rhaegal and Drogon for fire to meet it. The flames advanced towards the Blackfyres. The pale dragon added its fire but the two Blackfyre dragons were much younger, their flames not as hot and they were unable to sustain it for as long as Drogon and Rhaegal. They tucked their wings and dropped quickly, avoiding the flames.

Daenerys exchanged a glance with Jon before Drogon flew towards the dark dragon, Moonlight.

His eyes followed her a moment longer before he glared at the pale dragon. The rider guided her dragon towards him, fast. _Dracarys._ The pale dragon spiralled in the air around the stream of fire in a manuveur Jon have never seen Daenerys even attempt for it would surely throw the rider off. Then Jon glimpsed the straps on the underbelly of the dragon; saddles.

He blinked and before Rhaegal had stopped breathing fire, the pale dragon slammed into Rhaegal. Jon was jerked roughly and the wind was knocked out of him. Rhaegal craned his neck and snapped his jaws but his teeth closed around air, missing the pale dragon’s hind narrowly. _Follow them!_ Rhaegal screeched and obeyed. Rhaegal was the faster of the two but even he could barely keep up with the smaller pale dragon.

Rhaegal snapped at the tail of the pale dragon, missing as the dragon twisted in the air, the rider held securely by the saddle that Jon noticed strapped the rider by her thighs and leg to her dragon. _Dracarys._

Orange yellow flames burst forth from Rhaegal and the pale dragon screeched in pain, the flesh of its tail burning, before it twisted and flew up quickly. Rhaegal followed but with quick successions of sharp turns, Rhaegal fell further than Jon could expect Rhaegal’s fire to reach. They had to stop her or at least slow her. If he did not, Rhaegal would tire sooner than the pale dragon. Jon could already feel Rhaegal’s body heave with every breath the green dragon took. But its injured tail was slowing it down. _Come on boy,_ Jon urged Rhaegal to speed up.  

The pale dragon abruptly twisted around, stopping and suddenly, Rhaegal was approaching them, fast. Too fast.

White fire filled Jon’s vision. The heat of the fire licked at his skin, scorching. Rhaegal’s screech was at a deafening pitch. _At this proximity, even Rhaegal burned._ He rose up into the night sky on his own accord and Jon clutched his spikes, struggling to stay on. He glimpsed the white flames burn a path down Rhaegal’s underbelly, the green dragon screeching. Finally, Rhaegal rose above the fire.

 _He’s protecting me._ Rhaegal could have tucked his wings and dropped, avoiding the flames almost completely, but it would have exposed Jon to the fire. Rhaegal knew he burnt; learning after Jon was injured from Rhaegal bringing him through the burning gap of the dragonpit after Drogon. Jon had never hated himself more or felt more inadequate to be rider to Rhaegal than now.

Just then, Rhaegal jolted and roared in pain and Jon turned to see that the pale dragon had its jaw around Rhaegal’s injured wing, this time too far for Jon to reach. _But just enough for Rhaegal’s fire to reach._

 _Dracarys!_ Rhaegal craned his neck and fire burst forth towards the pale dragon. The pale dragon twisted his head to the side in an attempt to duck the fire but reluctant to let go of Rhaegal’s wing. Jon heard a sickening tear as the pale dragon ripped Rhaegal’s wing in an attempt to escape. The fire burned the expanse of the neck of the dragon, licking at the rider. She panicked. _She burned as well._ The dragon roared in pain and at the rider’s frantic order, the dragon released Rhaegal’s wing.

Rhaegal screeched loudly as he flew frantically in the lightening sky. They were losing height slowly and Jon glimpsed, wincing to see Rhaegal’s mutilated wing. A screech answered Rhaegal and Jon turned to it to see Drogon. Daenerys was looking over at him, frowning. She disappeared from his sights as Drogon ducked from a stream of orange black fire, coming from an incredible distance. Jon perked up as he heard approaching beats of wing. He turned and his eyes widened.

_RHAEGAL!_

Rhaegal responded and tucked his wings. White fire skimmed overhead. Fear filled Jon then; _not my fear._ He looked at Rhaegal. The green dragon was flailing as they headed for the ground. _Fear._

Behind them, the pale dragon gave chase, coming closer with every beat of its wings. _Fear._

He touched his mind to Rhaegal and was alarmed that instead of a calm strong presence, Rhaegal’s mind was vulnerable and a mess of utter terror and pain, almost the mind of an animal. _Rhaegal…_ he leaned closer to the dragon, pressing his body to the jade green scales. Their minds touched and Rhaegal seemed to calm just slightly but his mind was open, vulnerable and Jon could not help himself as he delved deeper.

His face was burning, the pain almost unbearable. It was dark and his eyes were closed. When he tried to open them, his vision was blurred but he could see the outlines of the fast approaching houses on land. Then there was his belly, it stung as well. He has never known fire to hurt him, it always soothed him, but now it did and he was terrified for it. The horror engulfed him. When Jon tried to shout, it was the roar of a dragon and it thundered through his body. He felt powerful.

Then he felt a heat from behind him. _No. Faster._ He could feel his wings were tucked, fluttering in the wind; his left one in agony. He summoned all the strength in his body and snapped his wings open. His wings caught the wind just slightly and they slowed. But with one of it half torn from his body, it was not enough to bring them back into the air. He blinked to clear his vision but instead his eyes exploded with pain. Below him he could see the blurry outline of movement on land. He screeched and he watched the people below scramble away.

 _Rhaegal!_ A roar erupted from him and Jon tucked his long neck and twisted his body to the side to protect himself; Rhaegal. But Jon realised he could not. Rhaegal did not allow him to; not while Jon was on his back. _Rhaegal no._ They landed heavily on Rhaegal’s underbelly which exploded in pain as his raw burns scrapped against the concrete, sending stones flying. They stilled as his body collided with a large house, breaking a wall they slammed against. The dust flew around them. _Pain._ He blinked to see a familiar body to his side. _Jon._ Jon heard his name.

Jon gasped, coughing. He blinked. His face no longer burned and neither did his front. The only thing that hurt was the left side of his lower abdomen and it was nothing compared to the burns. His vision cleared and his head pounded. He groaned, holding his head while he touched his abdomen. It came away with a hot sticky fluid and he looked down. A small splinter was embedded in his abdomen.

A deep rumble sounded to his side. _Rhaegal!_

Jon rolled onto his side and struggled to his feet, his hand clutching his abdomen. He leaned over, groaning as he limped hurriedly to the green dragon. His eyes were open, his wings spread on both sides. The green scales of his snout was burned, blackened but there was no blood and Jon could see his scales were still there. His eyes, bright bronze, were stark against the wound on his face. He gently touched Rhaegal on the side of his head. Rhaegal screeched and lifted his head from the ground.

“No boy, rest-“

Jon froze, his hand flying to Longclaw at his side as he heard approaching footsteps. He gripped the hilt and drew the sword. He slowly treaded out of the house to see sellswords surrounding them. Their weapons in their hands, they were watching him cautiously; or rather, Rhaegal.

When they saw him, a man leaped forward, slashing his sword. Jon parried his strike with Longclaw, staggering as his abdomen flared. He shouldered the man away and he stumbled back. Jon quickly drove his sword into his stomach, watching as he dropped to the ground, dead. They got bolder as they seem to notice Rhaegal’s injury and two approached at a time. As Jon stabbed another man through his chest, Rhaegal stirred, screeching. The men paused and paled. The green dragon got to his feet and forelegs, destroying the roof of the house.

Rhaegal roared at the men as he lowered his neck between Jon and the men, orange yellow flames streaming from his jaw. The men screamed as they burned, the rest ducking to the side. Rhaegal rose over Jon, fire still streaming from him. Jon yelped as he felt something immensely hot on his arm. He glanced to see a drop of black blood, burning his arm. He looked up to see blood dripping from Rhaegal’s snout. _Pain._

 _Rhaegal daor! (_ Rhaegal stop!)

The green dragon stopped and his head sank to the ground heavily, his breath a wispy screech. The men surrounding them glanced to the other, uncertain as they stared at the beast. Jon glared at them, holding Longclaw at the ready. Rhaegal growled and the men stilled for a moment but Rhaegal did nothing more than that, his body heaving with every breath, black blood pooling from his underbelly and around him on the floor.

The men advanced on him. There were at least ten of them.

As one man got close enough to strike him, Jon lunged, determined to strike him first. But they all paused as they heard the loud cries of men. Jon looked down the street to see armed smallfolk running down the street.  

As they came to the sellswords, the sellswords were cut down quickly and brutally, overwhelmed by sheer number. When the sellswords were all dead, the smallfolk dropped to their knees, “King Jon,” they cried.

Jon hurriedly gestured for them to rise, “you saved my life, all of you,” he clasped the arms of men and women in thanks. Then he instructed them to assist in clearing out the remaining sellswords from the city and helping the others.

A roar from the skies startled them and Jon looked up to see Drogon darting in and out of the clouds. The sky was lightening now and Jon could see that the dark dragon was a midnight blue while the pale dragon was a light pink, almost white. They flew after Drogon, snapping at him.

“Dany…” he paled. Turning around, he went to Rhaegal. The green dragon’s eyes were closed, “Rhaegal…” the dragon opened its eyes, “please… your mother needs us. Your brother needs us,” Rhaegal purred and with a rumble in his throat, Jon watched hopefully as the dragon lifted his great head from the ground. As he planted his foreleg firmly on the ground, rising, Jon stepped over his wing, climbing onto his back. Rhaegal managed to get to his feet. He roared and stood on his hind legs, flapping his wings. Hot blood spurted from his torn wing, narrowly missing Jon. Then Rhaegal staggered and fell heavily.

 _No._ Jon looked up helplessly.

Drogon turned and snapped his jaws at the dark dragon, forcing it to stop its close pursuit. Black fire streamed from Drogon and towards both the dragon on its tail. The dark one twisted in an impossible manoeuvre, ducking the flames. The pale one however was hit full to the face, unable to duck as agilely because its tail, burned by Rhaegal, was bloodied and cumbersome. The pale one roared in pain and Jon felt hope swell in his chest.

Drogon roared and surged forward eagerly. His jaw snapped shut over the pale dragon’s neck and the dragon screeched in sheer agony. Drogon shook his head, threatening to tear the dragon’s head from its body. Large amounts of blood poured from the pale dragon.

Jon watched in horror as the dark dragon emerged from the clouds over Drogon. Fire streamed from the dark dragon. Drogon startled and twisting to look behind him, with the pale dragon still in his jaw. Fire engulfed Drogon’s back. Drogon screeched and released the pale dragon. The dragon flapped its wings a couple of times weakly but it still plummeted to the ground. His head was half torn at the neck, blood spurting from it as it fell. Jon knew it would be dead before it hit the ground.

In the air, the dark dragon recklessly slammed onto Drogon’s side, over its wing. Its jaw snapping, struggling for purchase on Drogon’s neck but Drogon craned his neck and was trying to do the same.  Black fire streamed from Drogon’s jaw but the dark dragon ducked its head down close to Drogon’s wing and the fire barely skimmed its neck, not hurting it. On Drogon’s back, Jon’s eyes widened. The dark dragon was above Drogon’s wing and although its jaws were past Daenerys, his rider was not.

The knife Daemon drew reflected the light of the risen sun. Jon’s heart seemed to still as Daenerys turned, presumably feeling him behind her. Then Jon watched Daemon Blackfyre drove the knife into her back.

“DAENERYS!” Drogon’s roar drowned out his voice. Drogon flailed in the air, panicked as it felt his mother’s pain, and the dark dragon lunged forward, clamping its jaw over the back of Drogon’s neck. _NO!_

Jon glanced to Rhaegal, about to open his mouth to plead with Rhaegal that they have to get into the air. _Or Dany and Drogon… they can’t win…_ But Rhaegal was flat on his stomach, his breathing incredibly shallow. That was when the realisation came to him: his dragon was dying. And he could do nothing.

 _Rhaegal!_ Jon began to reach for Rhaegal’s mind, determined to pull his dragon from death itself but then a thought came to him and Jon paused, short of doing so. He slowly looked up at the dark dragon, its teeth sank in Drogon’s neck.

He could still remember the steel of Rhaegal’s mind from before, the closed off but strong presence; so unlike that of Ghost, so different, so _human._

Jon closed his eyes then. He reached, with his mind, towards the dark dragon. He tried to slip into its skin as he did with Ghost but as it did with Rhaegal, its mind was closed, strong. But Jon knew he was stronger; right now, he did not have a choice, he would have to be.

The sight of Daemon driving a knife into Daenerys’ back burned into the back of his eyelids and with it, a rage boiled in his blood. Jon felt himself begin to slip from his own body and into the dragon’s. His mind felt as if it was being ripped apart under the crushing presence of the mind of another, one as conscious and sentient as that of a man’s. Jon screamed in pain; feeling like his very soul was being crushed. In the background, closer than he would expect from where he was, he heard the roar of a dragon.

Slowly, his scream became that roar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a huge chapter, not just the length of it. Hope I didn't lose any of you guys in the description of the fight: if I did, feel free to clarify in the comments. Let me know what you guys think!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: ANGST

**_Daenerys_ **

She glimpsed the shine of a sword, or knife, and panic flitted through her. She made to turn to avoid it but before she could, she felt a force into her back and she staggered. A _knife._ A piercing pain flooded into her body as she realised and her vision spotted with a blinding whiteness. Her cry was drowned out as Drogon roared, flailing as if he had been hurt.

_Drogon-_

Moonlight snapped its jaws and sank its teeth into the back of Drogon’s neck.

She screamed then, watching a small trail of black blood seep from Drogon. She felt her back burn in agony with every shift. She fell forward onto Drogon, her vision blurring from the pain.

_Drogon, no…_

Daenerys looked up to see the Moonlight’s jaw deep in Drogon’s flesh; the flesh of her child. Her heart ached with a pain, almost rivalling that in her back.

Suddenly, Moonlight released Drogon and roared deafeningly. He flailed as if in physical pain and fell away from Drogon, towards the ground below.

“No! What are you doing you stupid beast?” she heard Daemon Blackfyre scream at Moonlight. Daenerys tightened her hold as much as she can over Drogon’s spikes as she urged him down to them, her vision slipping in and out of darkness. Moonlight flapped his wings vigorously and flew haphazardly. Daemon was flung around on his back like a rag doll, staying on Moonlight only by the saddle straps on his legs.

She urged Drogon closer and as she came closer, Moonlight roared angrily, shaking its great big head from side to side.

“Fire! You stupid beast!” Daemon roared, pointing to them but Moonlight did not obey. Drogon screeched and approached. Moonlight looked to them and Daenerys froze, expecting a stream of fire from Moonlight but the dragon was strangely calm and merely looked at her sombrely, unblinking. Its dark eyes, in the sunlight, was a deep blue; like Daena’s.

_You poor thing._

Daenerys gazed into its soulful eyes; intrigued and in awe. Then the moment was gone. Moonlight startled and screeched deafeningly. Daemon, on Moonlight’s back, was yelling incoherently to the dragon, slashing at the back of the dragon’s neck with another knife, “obey you useless beast; just like your master-”

Daenerys felt her blood begin to boil and she seethed. _Drogon. Ossēnagon_ (kill).

Drogon screeched and in a flash, Drogon swooped over the back of Moonlight, snapping Daemon up in his jaw. Daemon’s scream was cut short as he was torn from the saddle. She glanced back to see his legs still in the saddle. Blood poured over Moonlight’s back as it dripped from Drogon’s jaw. Black flames flew from Drogon’s half closed jaw before Drogon bucked his head back, snapping his jaw and she knew, Daemon was dead.

 _We won-_ she teetered in her place on his back, feeling extremely lightheaded. She could feel warm blood trickling down her back from her wound; where the knife still sat, digging into her flesh with her every movement.

Then a horrific roar made Daenerys glance back. Moonlight was flailing in the skies against itself. It snapped its jaws at nothing before breathing fire into the air, shaking its head vigorously.

_Moonlight… you poor child-_

With a great screech, Moonlight tucked its wings in and plunged, headfirst towards land. Daenerys froze in shock and could only stare as Moonlight dashed its head against the rubbles of the dragonpit without hesitation. She flinched as a loud sickening snap was heard, the ground rumbling from the impact. When the dust settled, Moonlight lay motionless on the rubble, its long neck twisted at an unnatural angle; dead.

She closed her eyes and leaned over Drogon. _I’m so sorry, Daena._ A wave of nausea came to her then and she gripped Drogon tighter.

_Jon._

Her eyes snapped open and she scanned the city for him but her vision was blurry, fading in and out of darkness. She remembered seeing Jon fall and it had almost pushed her to go after him. She had only stopped herself when she saw Rhaegal’s wings unfurl, slowing their fall. She did not have the time to look for Jon after, when both Daemon and his mother led both dragons to her.

“ _skoriot iksis aōha lēkia, Drōgon_? (where is your brother, Drogon?),” Daenerys whispered, the pain causing her to struggle even to take shallow breathes. The deeper ones stretched her ribs and her back would flare with almost incapacitating amounts of pain.

She felt rather than heard a deep purr emit from Drogon as he banked left and before long, he circled and landed atop the houses. On the streets, Rhaegal lay sprawled on the ground, half his large body inside a house, destroyed by his landing. Daenerys glimpsed Jon, on the ground beside Rhaegal. Both of them unmoving and her stomach sank, her heart pounding with absolute terror.

Sensing her anxiety and fear, Drogon snorted and stepped down from the house. She tried to climb down but instead, she forgot her injured leg and her knee buckled. She fell on her side heavily beside Drogon. The knife jostled, dug into her and pain engulfed her back and filled every inch of her body. She gasped in pain. Drogon purred beside her, his snout coming to her in concern but Daenerys looked to Jon’s unmoving form, “Jon!” she hissed and scrambled to her feet. Her injured leg threatened to buckle beneath her as she staggered to him. Her back burned with every halting step she took but all she could think of and see was Jon.

_Don’t be dead. You can’t be dead. You said nothing can keep you away from me; nothing can keep us apart. You promised me-_

She stumbled to her knees as she came to him. The agony of her body forgotten as she reached for him. Grasping his sleeve in a fist, she yanked with all the strength left in her body, flipping him onto his back. The deadweight of his body wrenched at her heart. She hoisted herself closer, sprawled over his chest and cupped his face. His face and beard was covered his soot and dust but she barely noticed them. All she saw was that his eyes were closed.

Panic clawed at her, squeezing her and she could not manage even a breath as she brushed the dust from his face with her thumbs, “Jon,” her voice came out a whimper, “Jon,” she shook him gently. He was unmoving, “Jon!” tears stung her eyes, “what’s wrong?” she looked over him, expecting a wound. Then she saw it, a splinter in his abdomen. She blinked away the tears. The splinter remained lodged in his abdomen and only a trickle of blood escaped from it, slowly. A small pool of blood had collected where he lay before she came to him. Her lip trembled and she pressed them together as she sat up and tugged on his arm, “Jon,” he did not stir even then. She pressed her palm to his chest and shook him, “Jon…” she pleaded, a tear escaping her eye.

Staring at him obstinately, the sight of him began to blur, her vision dimming. She blinked. Her head felt incredibly light. She gazed at him for as long as she can manage, willing with her heart for him to open his eyes.

“Jon,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered close and Daenerys felt a blanket of fatigue weigh over her, impossible for her to resist.

_Don’t sleep, Daenerys._

She could almost hear him tell her. Her eyes fluttered open again and she fought it, for him, “Jon?” she muttered and lowered her head to his chest. Her eyes slipped shut and with her ear against his chest, she could hear the erratic beating of his strong heart. _He’s alive._

A small smile spread over her lips and she murmured, “Jon Snow…”

**_Jaehaerys_ **

_Go south, to Storm’s End. The Baratheons, even if Gendry is not there, they would protect you. Suvion will guide you through the Kingswood, it would be easier to stay unseen._

Jaehaerys knew where Storm’s End is. He knew the map of Westeros, when he closed his eyes he could see it. And he knew the places in Essos as well. Sam made him learn them. And when he was younger, Father would place the sweet persimmon tarts that he loved all over the table, marking places of the Seven Kingdoms. He would only get to eat the piece if he could name the place, the Lords which ruled there, their sigil and their words. Sometimes, Father allowed him a piece if he could name just the place and the Lords.

His arms were beginning to ache from carrying the dragon egg that he could not manage without both his hands and his arms. It was heavy, and getting heavier the longer he held it. His legs, used to running, were managing better than the rest of his body. He always loved to run and he loved to hide. Before him, Suvion cantered steadily. Once in a while, the direwolf would turn and look at him, tongue lolling out; as if checking if Jaehaerys followed.

“ _se ñuhoso gīmigon nyke, Suvion_ , (I know the way, Suvion),” Jaehaerys retorted irritably. Suvion stopped suddenly, his ears perking up and Jaehaerys almost bumped into him. Jaehaerys frowned, about to open his mouth to snap at Suvion but then he heard it too.

Voices, “I saw a boy slip under the wall! I swear it but I could not fit through it-“ there were men coming.

He glanced around them. They had left the city via a small gap under the wall of the city. Suvion had sniffed it out and Jaehaerys had shifted the brambles to see the small gap. Then they had been walking south, towards Storms End and had just began to enter the Kingswood. Jaehaerys glanced back to catch a glimpse of men approaching. They wore the leather armour he saw the men in his home wore; the ones who Arya had to stay to fight for him to run.

Jaehaerys bit his lips at the thought of Arya. He had left her behind. It was cowardly-

Then he felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. He looked to see Suvion’s teeth firm on his sleeve, tugging him. He glanced back as the men behind them snapped the twigs they walked on. _They won’t be any good at hunting._ Jaehaerys thought idly and he ran deeper into the woods. It was summer, as it was since Jaehaerys was born. The forest floor was dry from the constant heat of the sun; the trees only kept alive by the rain that rarely came. He watched his step and treaded lightly on the dry forest floor. Behind him, Suvion was quiet as well.

Jaehaerys ran till he could not, his middle aching sharply. His hands were trembling from holding his egg by the time he stopped, hunched over, hugging the egg to him. He glanced back to see that the men were no longer there. Beside him, Suvion watched him with wide orange eyes, his tongue lolling to the side. He looked like he was smiling. Jaehaerys laughed and for a moment, it reminded him of their time at home when Jaehaerys would run from Jeyne and Suvion would be beside him, the only one who could keep up. They would do whatever they wanted until they were discovered and Jaehaerys would be brought back for his lessons. Jaehaerys always made it such that the times he was discovered would be around time for his meal, when he got hungry, “we lost them,” Jaehaerys grinned, catching his breath.

Suvion yipped. Jaehaerys glanced to Suvion’s side to see a large tree. He walked over and sat at the base of it, placing the egg in his lap. Jaehaerys gazed down at it. _Mother promised me she would help me hatch it when the tourney ended, so I could have my own dragon._ But the tourney ended and she never did. She had been sick and then she left. _They all left._

Suvion butted him and Jaehaerys blinked, “except you,” he forced a smile and Suvion sat on his haunches beside him. Jaehaerys ran his fingers over the dragon egg in his lap then. The surface of the egg were scales. It was rough in places and smooth in others. And it was warm, “ _Rytsas_ (Hello),” Jaehaerys pressed his palm to the egg, enjoying the warmth, “ _iksā ñuha zaldrīzes jāre naejot sagon,_ _skoros kessa nyke brōzagon ao?_ (you are going to be my dragon, what should I call you?),” Jaehaerys smiled. He glanced around for a moment before his eyes landed on Suvion.

 _Ice._ Jaehaerys has given him that name and his resolve was strengthened when Mother had smiled at the sound of that name. Suvion had lived up to that name. His eyes, although, orange were cold. Suvion was rarely warm to strangers and only to Jaehaerys, Mother and Father. To strangers, Suvion was fiercely protective, snarling and snapping when they approached. He was the ice that burns.

 _Fire._ It came to him and he gazed down at the egg. _You are born of the Song of Ice and Fire._ Sam had told him once and the words were engraved in his mind; Jaehaerys even dreamt those words sometimes. He knew what the Song of Ice and Fire was. It was Father and Mother.

Jaehaerys had heard Tyrion referring to them as such. Father was Ice and Mother was Fire. Their song started when they met and defeated the Night King together, saving the realm and all the lives in it. Everyone, who were living now and would live for centuries to come, were alive because of his Father and his Mother.

“Vorsa,” Jaehaerys muttered. It was fire in Dothraki. Jaehaerys frowned. The word did not sound like a dragon’s name. No dragon in history was ever named like that. The names he knew and learned from studying the history, particularly the Dance of Dragons, were Vhagar, Balerion, Meraxes and the like. _Mother never named her dragons after dragons of the past. Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion._ Jaehaerys’ eyes widened when he thought he felt something move within the egg, just slightly. He lowered his ear to the egg then but heard nothing; only feeling the heat on his cheek, “Vorsa,“ Jaehaerys whispered, willing the dragon to move. The dragon did not.

Jaehaerys sighed, disappointed. He knew he should not sit too long, the men would catch up to him; as his guards tended to when he stayed in one place for too long. Jaehaerys glanced to the egg in his lap, dreading to carry it again. Then he looked at Suvion. The direwolf was growing quickly and he was now stronger and faster than Jaehaerys. He grinned at the wolf as an idea came to him. Jaehaerys placed the egg on the ground gently. He found a thin tree and beckoned to Suvion. At his direction, Suvion bit into its bark. Jaehaerys tugged and ripped it as Aggo showed him before. Then he began weaving.

He brought it back to the egg and Suvion followed. The direwolf stood patiently as Jaehaerys laced the rope around his belly. _Suvion would carry the dragon egg_ , Jaehaerys patted the wolf. _We’ll take turns._

As he made to place the egg onto Suvion, he startled, as a twig snapped behind him. _Too close._

He turned on the spot. _A big mistake._ Jaehaerys realised he should have ducked down as he heard a man shout, no doubt drawn by his movement, “there he is!”

Jaehaerys glanced back to see the men in leather armour behind him. There were so many of them that Jaehaerys could not count them all at once. And all of them were looking at him, “Suvion!” Jaehaerys called and bolted, throwing down the bark, cradling the egg to him. Suvion barked and ran alongside him.

He ran as fast as he could but his legs began to tire. Behind him, he could still hear the men running after him, getting closer. They were loud and clumsy, not like him, but they were stronger, taller and did not slow.

As his breathing began to come in gasps, Jaehaerys did not see a protruding tree root and his foot caught on it, sending him sprawling into the forest floor. The dragon egg rolled from him, stopping against another tree with a loud thud.

Suvion yipped at him anxiously. Jaehaerys scrambled to his feet and ran towards the dragon egg but he was cut off by a tall man. Jaehaerys stopped and backed away.

“Come with us, Prince Jaehaerys,” he growled as his friends caught up to them, surrounding them.

“No,” Jaehaerys snapped, jutting his chin and puffing out his chest in defiance.

The men burst into guffaws. The man before him took a step toward him, his hand outstretched for Jaehaerys to take, “come quietly and we won’t hurt you-“

A blur of white passed him, close to his side and Jaehaerys stumbled in surprise. Suvion sank his teeth into the man’s outstretched arm and blood spurted from his wound instantly. The man screamed and dropped to the ground in pain, backing away. Jaehaerys quickly ran towards the dragon egg. As he reached his arms out to take it from the floor, someone wrapped an arm around his middle.

“NO!” Jaehaerys screamed, kicking his legs wildly as he was lifted effortlessly into the air against the man’s side. Jaehaerys flailed as the man began to walk away from the egg. Then suddenly, he remembered his lessons. Jaehaerys drew his elbow forward and with all his strength, drove it back into the man’s rib.

The man cried out in surprise and released him. Jaehaerys fell and bolted the moment his feet hit the ground, “Hey!”

Jaehaerys ran straight to his egg and picked it up. He turned to see the man already upon him, a sword in his hand. Fear froze him and Jaehaerys squeezed his eyes shut, holding the dragon egg before him.

He heard a growl before a scream. Jaehaerys opened his eyes to see Suvion tearing out the man’s throat. Jaehaerys watched blood bubble from the man’s neck with wide eyes. Suvion looked at him then, his jaw dripping with blood, his white fur coated red. Then Suvion turned from him and ran towards the men.  

Jaehaerys watched the men hesitate and gritting his teeth, Jaehaerys ran. He could still hear the men screams when he stopped. _No._ A Prince cannot be a coward. Suvion was loyal to him and he would die for him but what kind of Prince is he if he left Suvion behind? What kind of person will let another die for him like that? A King should protect others, Father always said, _and a Prince should as well_.

But Jaehaerys had no weapon. He was not yet old enough to carry a sword or even a dagger. He could shoot arrows but he did not think to take a bow and some arrows before he left in a hurry. If he went back now, he could not help Suvion and he would just get captured.

Jaehaerys’ eyes darted about the forest. It was getting dark and windy. A strong chilly wind blew at him. _At least if I was captured, they would not hurt Suvion but Suvion would never let them; he would fight them and they will kill him._ Jaehaerys hugged the warm egg closer. _Father. Tell me what I should do._ Jaehaerys felt tears well up in his eyes as he heard Suvion whimper behind him. The screams of the men have long stopped.

 _Mother._ He trembled as the cold crept into his clothes. _Can you be brave, my little dragon?_ Jaehaerys could still hear her words from the first time she left him. She had said to him, _do you know what dragons are, Jaehaerys? Va ñellyrty perzys (fire made flesh). When you light a fire Jaehaerys, you will know that no matter where I may be, I love you. As the heat of that fire will keep you warm, I will be there with you and I will protect you._

_Mother. Fire._

_You have the blood of the dragon._

Jaehaerys placed his egg on the floor quickly and scrambled over the forest floor. He gathered dried twigs and leaves quickly. The cold wind blew and Jaehaerys worked quicker. Behind him, it was quiet but Jaehaerys knew the men will come soon. After he gathered them, he glanced around and picked up a stick.

Father had showed him how to do it one afternoon after court. Jaehaerys had expected Father to quiz him on what he learned from Sam in the morning, as usual, over their meal. But Father had taken one look at his sullen expression and asked him if he wanted to learn how to start a fire, making him promise he will work at it till he succeeded if he was to be taught. Jaehaerys promised and he practiced every day until he could do it.

Jaehaerys hunched over the pile he gathered and got to work. He blew at it and he glimpsed a spark, then smoke. A cold wind blew and suddenly, the fire caught on the pile quickly. So quickly, Jaehaerys yelped, startled. The relentless wind blew the fire higher and Jaehaerys picked up his dragon egg.

“There!” He turned and quickly ran behind the fire, his back against the wind. He glared at the men approaching. They ran straight for him. But suddenly, the wind picked up and Jaehaerys watched the fire advanced beyond the pile he gathered, consuming everything on the dry forest floor hungrily; spreading in all directions but especially towards the men. The men gasped as they felt the heat of the fire, backing away.

The wind blew wildly and the fire grew. Jaehaerys felt the fire lick at his feet, warm, comforting. The warmth seeped into his bones and chased the cold from the wind away.  

_As the heat of that fire will keep you warm, I will be there with you and I will protect you._

_Mother._ He watched the fire spread relentlessly on the wind. The men covered their mouths against the smoke and began to contemplate running. They were shouting to each other but Jaehaerys did not bother to listen to what they planning. _They will not escape._

They begin to retreat but it was too late. The fire engulfed the forest. A tree cracked loudly and fell before the retreating men. They tried to scramble over the tree but they screamed instead; the fire burning them.

Jaehaerys gazed down. The fire licked at his clothes, climbing up his body. He felt nothing beyond the warmth while the men writhed in agony, their flesh melting from their bones. _I am the blood of the dragon. Va ñellyrty perzys_ (fire made flesh) _._ Just then, with that thought and with fire on him and around him for as far as he could see, Jaehaerys felt complete; he felt safe, he felt as if Mother was here with him. He belonged here.

As the last of his clothing fell away, burned to ashes, Jaehaerys blinked, alarmed, to feel the dragon egg move violently from within. A loud crack, like thunder, echoed through the forest. And then another. And another. Jaehaerys stared, wide-eyed, in disbelief as large cracks ran over the egg. He watched pieces of the shell shift, twitching for a moment, before they fell away entirely.

A small, slimy lizard like thing emerged, cradled in his arms. The fire licked at them and the wet slime steamed around it. Its scale dried and Jaehaerys saw that it was a deep red colour, its wings cream coloured membranes, now crumpled. It opened its eyes and Jaehaerys saw that there were light coloured, almost gold. The dragon blinked up at him a couple of times before it shifted to its feet unsteadily. It chirped up at Jaehaerys, who could only gape at it

“Vorsa anni (my fire),” Jaehaerys whispered, in awe. The dragon chirped again and climbed up to his shoulder. As it settled, it purred and nuzzled its small head against Jaehaerys’ temple. Jaehaerys leaned gently into the dragon. It felt warm, warmer than when it was in the egg and Jaehaerys knew the warmth he felt had been his dragon, “ _Zālagon_ ,” Jaehaerys told the dragon softly, “that will be your name. It means ‘burn’ in High Valyrian and that is what you will do, to our enemies, to the people who hurt us; as you did today,” the dragon keened loudly into the night, the sound echoing through the burning forest.

The last of the screams have long died away when Jaehaerys began walking, the fire dancing around him. _Suvion._ He thought as he walked to where he left the direwolf. If Suvion was killed, the fire would consume his body. Jaehaerys came to the spot, almost barely recognisable from within the fire, there was no sign of a body of a wolf; only the charred remains of men that was still burning. Jaehaerys continued walking.

As he came upon the fringe of the Kingswood, the fire around him had died down with nothing left to burn, most of the trees reduced to ashes. He heard a weak bark and turned.

“JAEHAERYS!”

He saw Suvion running towards him first before he looked to Suvion side to see Arya. He smiled and ran towards them, his body no longer ached; the fire had burned away the pain as they had with his clothes. Arya made to take him into her arms but she froze then, her grey eyes widened as she stared at him. Jaehaerys smiled and looked down as Suvion weakly bumped his head against his hand. He ruffled the white direwolf’s fur, glancing worriedly at his bloodied side.

“Jaehaerys… Is that-?” Arya gaped.

Jaehaerys glanced at his shoulder, on which Zālagon perched. The deep red dragon was looking back at Arya. It suddenly keened fiercely, flapping its cream coloured wings. Jaehaerys felt the soft membrane of its left wing on the back of his head and he smiled at Zālagon’s attempt to intimidate. Arya laughed, half in joy and half in disbelief.

**_Daenerys_ **

_Pain._

_People._

She could see blurry shapes of people over her. They were constantly moving, shifting shadows. The pain made her want to scream at them and she tried. But she heard nothing; nothing but murmurs of the people around her.

“Thank the Seven for her armour,” she heard, “and the knife wasn’t pulled from her. It would have been worse. Hold her still,” Their hands were on her, pulling at her, pushing her, shifting her. Every touch and movement racked her body with agony but she could nothing.

It was like being underwater. She thought. She could see them and hear them, barely; but they never seem to notice her.

_Jon._

_Where is he?_

_I want him._

It was quiet now.

Her eyelids felt like lead as she tried to open them.

It was dark.

She blinked. Her blurred vision cleared gradually to see wood with ornate carvings above her. She frowned in confusion before she realised it was the canopy of her bed; their bed.

_Jon._

She swallowed to realise her throat was parched and her tongue was heavy and swollen in her mouth. She turned her head to her side, yearning for the sight of Jon. He was always beside her whenever she woke; in pain and at loss. But she was laying in the middle of their bed and her sides were vacant of the usual worried grey eyes or the head of raven curly locks.

Then she remembered; his curiously serene face, his closed eyes, his wound and his beating heart.

At that thought, Daenerys tried to sit up. She groaned as sensation, that she did not realise was missing, flooded back into her body. Her back exploded with pain and she bit her lips to keep from crying out as she sat. Her vision dimmed and she clutched the sheets, waiting for the faintness to fade. When it did and her body accustomed to the pain somewhat, she glanced around the chambers. It was curiously empty as well, even of her handmaidens that she would usually find there if not Jon.

She then glanced out the balcony to glimpse that it was dark outside. _How long have I been asleep?_

Panic gripped her as she recalled a night like this one; except Jorah has been there. That night she had woken to realise four years have passed her by. The four most precious years of her life during which she was married to the man she loved with all her heart, her son was born and has grown, without her.

 _No._ She shook her head. _It can’t be, it can’t have happened again._

Daenerys dismissed it quickly despite the anxiety that choked her, disallowing her to breathe. She threw aside the furs and when her bare feet touch the cold stones, she shook off the faintness in her head and stood. She teetered on her feet but staggered towards the door regardless. _Jon._ Pain rippled through her body from her back with every step she took and her leg buckled at the knee a couple of times from the agony. She stumbled over her numb feet and collapsed against the closed door, barely managing to hold herself up.

_Jon._

She pushed herself off the door and opened it, stumbling through it into the dark empty corridor. Daenerys glanced to the left before staggering right. She did not know where she was going but she knew who she wanted to see and she let her heart tug her down the corridor, push her to take another step after the previous one seem to take all her strength. Her breathing quickened and became shallow as her pain intensified with every stumble; jarring and brutal. Her head was beginning to pound, her eyes fluttering close every so often and her consciousness began to ebb.

_Jon._

She came to a large ornate door and reached for it. She opened the door and limped into the room. Daenerys glimpsed the blurred outlines of candles on the wall. She turned from the solar and at the door of the chambers, she paused.

_I found you._

She managed a small smile of triumph before she staggered to his side. She lurched as her knee buckled and she fell forward. She grasped the bed post, struggling to stay on her feet. Her back seared with sharp agony and she gasped. Her eyes found the face they longed to see since they opened and the agony seemed to fade into a dull throb in the background then.

She slowly let go of the bed post and limped to his side. As she sat on the bed beside him, she could feel something warm begin to spread over her back but she did not care.

_Jon._

“Jon,” she croaked, her hand finding his instinctively and she took it in both her hands. The deadweight of his hand wrenched at her heart as the warmth of it soothed her. She gazed down at their joined hands. His hand was much larger than hers and uniquely rough to the touch; scarred. The thick ridges of the disfigured skin that swirled over his palm and fingers felt familiar against hers and it comforted her. Thoughts, memories, of the countless times those scars ran over her skin in the gentlest way filled her mind. The nights or early mornings she would trace those scars happily, indulging herself while he was asleep because it was the only time Jon would tolerate such close, intimate attention from her.

Her Jon. Her sweet Jon. A man who would give everything for her but never allowed her to give him anything in return. His cheeks would flush when she gave him a compliment or addressed him as he was; a King. He tensed and would shift uncomfortably when she admired his beautiful body the way he did hers; he would always stop her, so Daenerys did so while he was asleep. She would always trace his scars and kiss them. Sometimes, when she got carried away, he would wake and catch her doing so. He would furrow his brows then and he would frown in disapproval before he would pull her to him and kiss her, so lovingly, as if trying to give her all the love and attention she showed him while he slept.

Daenerys clasped his hand firmly between hers and brought it to her face. She pressed a kiss to his palm, peppering kisses over every inch of his scars, “Jon…” she whispered. Her eyes found his pale face and he did not stir, like he usually would. She frowned, “Jon,” she croaked and pressed her cheek into his palm, willing him to wake and stop her. But he did not.

She gritted her teeth. Letting go of his hand, she reached for his shirt and undid the front. She glimpsed thick white bandages over his abdomen. Daenerys allowed her fingers to trail over his skin as she bared his chest and shoulders. Biting her lips, she trailed his scars with her fingertips. When he did not react, she dipped her head, “Jon… can you feel this?” she pressed her lips to the scar on his chest, over his heart. She looked up at him then, tears stinging her eyes as he did not stir. She blinked them away.

Gingerly, she brought her legs onto the bed and slowly lay down beside him. She scooted closer to him, propping her head on his bare shoulder. His skin smelled familiar, like the pine trees in the North, in the winter, and funnily enough, the smell warmed her. With her free hand, she flattened her hand on his chest. In the stillness and silence of the night, she could feel his heart against her palm and the thought of it, if nothing else, lifted her from her pain and fatigue.

“We did it,” she whispered to him, gazing at the candle on the wall. When he did not reply, she turned to look up at him, “together,” it echoed his words to her, when they defeated the Night King. His eyes were stubbornly closed. For a moment, she watched and listened to his steady breaths, feeling the comforting rise and fall of his chest. Then she chuckled bitterly, “was this how it felt?” she reached for him, touching his bearded cheek, “was this how much it hurts? To watch me as I watch you now, to speak to me, when I cannot respond, as I speak to you now,”

A sob tore from her lips and she felt tears well up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

She looked up at him again, wiping at her cheeks, “Jon,” she took his face in both her hands, “I know you are fighting, so hard, to come back to me,” she pressed a kiss to his jaw, “I’m right here,” she whispered, “find your way back to me, my love,” her eyes traced his handsome features frantically, feeling an impulse to memorise them; every curve and ridge of his face, “I will be right here, no matter how long it takes for you to find me. I’ll be here; waiting,”  

Daenerys pressed another kiss to the edge of his lip before she pressed her lips to his, kissing him gently. His lips were as she remembered, soft but they were unusually still against hers. When she pulled away, opening her eyes, his eyes were still closed. No matter how much she tried to stop it, a dejected breath left her lips and she stifled a rising sob, swallowing it. She brushed her thumb over his cheek once more, skimming the tip of the scar under his closed eye before she lowered her head and lay on his chest.

She listened to the steady beat of his heart, lacing and clutching his fingers with hers. She waited, her eyes staring towards the window vacantly. She willed with her entire being for his steady heartbeat to change, his hand in hers to twitch, his body beneath hers to shift; for him to wake. She willed it and she waited.

As she glimpsed the first light of the sun splashing its colour across the dark sky, she felt cold from within so she snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth from his painfully still body. Her eyes drooped unwittingly with the immense faintness that engulfed her all of a sudden. _Jon… if you cannot find me…I will find you._ With that thought on her mind, she let the beat of his heart lulled her into sweet oblivion.

She was in the hills just beyond the Kingswood. Above her, the sky was unbelievably blue, dotted with traces of clouds. The hills were a lush green and beneath her feet, the grass was soft. It was beautiful. She took a deep breath of fresh air. Then she heard the approach of horse hooves.

She glanced around and saw a lone rider. As he approached, riding on the fringes of the Kingswood, she saw that the rider was handsome young man atop a magnificent silver stallion; its beauty, strength and grace only rivalled by that of her Silver from many years before.

Daenerys marvelled at the animal but she could not take her eyes of the young man. He rode the stallion like he was born to. His long curly silver hair streamed behind him in the wind, only the strands that would fall into his face was bounded back. His face was clean shaven, revealing defined jaw and cheekbones. His deep set eyes were fixed on something in the Kingswood Daenerys could not see. He had a comely, almost sweet, face and Daenerys’ heart sang at the sight of it; the familiarity.

He was wearing a red tunic with white grey undershirt and black leather riding pants, complete with leather riding boots. At the hip of the man was a great longsword and strung across his broad shoulders, atop his back was a handsome bow.

Beside him, a white four legged creature ran quietly, easily keeping stride with the horse. It was alarmingly large, too large to be a wolf. She dared say this man could ride this creature if he wished and the creature willing. Somewhere above in the clouds, there was a screech. Daenerys startled and looked up. Her eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful young dragon descending from a patch of clouds. As it did, its dark scales reflected the light and she saw that its scales were a deep red colour, like rubies. Its wings were pale, cream coloured. The dragon was breath-taking in the sunlight.

She turned back to the young man as she heard him growl in frustration, “ _daor arlī_ (not again),” she heard him curse. She watched as the man reached over to remove the bow from his back, over his head. All the while, his horse barely broke stride in its fast gallop. Quickly but fluidly, he drew an arrow from the saddlebag and nocked the arrow with practiced ease. He directed the arrow towards the Kingswood, beside him. She expected him to aim but almost immediately after it was nocked, the arrow whistled through the air.

She followed its path to see the arrow strike a large racing buck straight in the eye. The buck tumbled into the ground heavily and remained still.

“Nakho, sajo (stop),” the young man said to his stallion in Dothraki as he urged it to come to a halt. The stallion obeyed quickly, his body heaving as he panted. The young man smiled and dismounted. He came before the horse and patted its snout heavily, “athdavrazar! (excellent!)”

At his side, the large white direwolf butted the young man’s shoulder with its snout. He laughed as he turned, ruffling the white direwolf, “sek, yer akka (yes, you too),” Daenerys felt a smile spread over her lips as the wind carried the sound of his laughter to her.

Then a screech, closer now, was heard again from above. She watched the grey eyes of the young man turned upwards. He rolled his eyes as he stepped away from his horse. The wolf followed him. The dragon landed in the middle of the grassy field before the hills and purred loudly, the sound resonating from deep within its belly. It lowered its head, his alarmingly light eyes, cream almost gold, levelled with the young man, “Vorsa anni (my fire),” he whispered in Dothraki. The dragon rumbled, “ _lyka, Iksan arghugon, Zālagon_ (Quiet, I was hunting, Zalagon),” the man said in High Valyrian now, looking stern, but Daenerys could hear the amusement in his voice. And apparently, so could the dragon as the dragon huffed and lifted his head from the man.

The dragon’s golden eyes then darted behind the young man and stayed on her. She froze.

The young man turned, following his dragon’s gaze. Daenerys’ breath caught in her throat as the man’s familiar grey eyes fell on her. His face lit up with a beautiful smile, “ _Muña_ ,” his grey eyes, in his exhilaration, were bright as he gazed at her, his cheeks flushed from the hunt.

_Jaehaerys._

She smiled at him and parted her lips to speak to him. But before she could, he said, an underlying iron tone in his voice that was now soft, “ _jikagon aril,_ _Muña_ (go back, mother),” Jaehaerys said, “ _kepa jorrāelagon ao. Nyke jorrāelagon ao_ (father needs you, I need you).”

* * *

_8 months later…_

**The Queen**

The sun was rising over the horizon. And as the light spilled over her- _their_ \- Kingdom, she sucked in a breath of the fresh cool morning air. As she did every day, the Queen observed the beginnings of another day.

“Your Grace,” the Queen tensed but turned her head to the side in slight acknowledgment, “would you like to break your fast this morning?”

 _No._ The words were on the tip of her tongue for her stomach turned at the thought of eating but she felt a strong kick in her middle, taking her breath away as it always did. A hand rose from the parapet and palmed her swollen stomach, “yes, please,” the Queen replied, not looking at her handmaiden. She then heard the shuffling of feet as they left to do as she bid. Another kick, against her palm, came; stronger than the last. Caressing the large swell gently, she spoke in a hushed whisper, “shhh…settle down, little one,” a small nudge, feeling like an elbow, against the side of her belly, “yes, we’ll be breaking our fast soon,” she promised, a small smile curving into her lips.

She waited but there were no more kicks and nudges. Then she heard the handmaidens return. Glancing across the city, at the sun, now full across the horizon, the Queen sighed and turned from the balcony. She made her way over to the table carefully. Missandei looked up as she approached, “your Grace, the kitchen has prepared the fruits and fish gifted by the people the day before,”

The Queen nodded, “thank you,” she said quietly and sat at the table.

Across the table, her handmaidens have brought her a large spread of food, as they always did despite her requests to keep it simple. And every time, she found herself grateful for their thoughtfulness; catching herself reaching for only certain types of food that would suit her palate this day. Most, if not all, of the foods were gifted to the Crown from the Lords and Ladies of the noble houses and even the smallfolk; the latter presenting them almost daily at court.

The Queen cut and ate a small slice of the fish that a smallfolk presented to her; taking the time to explain to her that she has heard fish to be exceptionally good for the Queen’s currently delicate state and for the future prince or princess. Apart from foods, she was recently given one too many tunics, woollen hats and socks; most of them handwoven from the finest material the smallfolk had to offer. The Queen has tried to reject these gifts that she knew were lavish to the smallfolk but they always insisted and seemed extremely disappointed when turned away. Eventually, at the Hand’s counsel, the Queen began accepting them. She would keep the gifts and arranged the remaining leftover foods be sent down to the city for the poor.

The fish tasted fresh, sweet and suited her stomach. She ate as much as she needed before eating the honeyed peaches, gifted from House Tyrell. As she placed down her fork, about to call for her handmaidens when she felt another kick in her middle. Smiling, she rubbed her belly, over where she felt the little foot, “what is it, little one? Have you not had enough this morning? You’re a greedy one aren’t you?” she asked, “do you know how loved you are? Lords, ladies and peasants await your arrival eagerly; and spoil you with gifts you can’t even begin to imagine,” she gazed down at the swell that now prevented her from putting on her slippers herself or even see her feet for that matter.

The Queen called for her handmaidens. Missandei came to the table and began to keep the food to be sent to the city when she paused. Her dark brown eyes came upon the Queen and the Queen sighed, knowing what was coming. True to what she expected, Missandei said softly, “you haven’t had much, your Grace,”

The Queen sighed again, “I’ve had more than my usual portion of the fish,” she pointed out. Missandei opened her mouth before she hesitated and nodded, reaching for the plates, “leave the peaches and apple tarts, the Crown Prince loves to break his fast on them,” Missandei smiled and nodded. She placed the last plate, save the peaches and apple tarts on the tray and turned to leave. The Queen rose then. She was to be at court soon. She put on her crown dutifully before leaving her chambers, her entourage on her heel.

The guards outside the door bowed deeply, greeting her as she neared. She nodded to them before turning to enter the chambers. Expecting it to be empty but for the page boys and handmaids attending to the King, a flash of absolute terror clutched her when she saw that the Grand Maester was hunched over the bed.

Quickly she entered. The Grand Maester looked up and bowed low, making to greet her but the Queen waved at him dismissively, “what’s wrong?” she demanded, glancing to the King.

“Oh, nothing at all your Grace,” Sam said hastily, “I was just making sure the King was alright and feeding him,”

The Queen studied the Grand Maester’s flushed face for a moment before she nodded stiffly, allowing the terror to fade away as she gazed at the King. His handsome face was serene as she rarely saw before the War; only in his sleep, as he was now. His curly black locks looked washed and were left untied.

“Your Grace,” the Queen was vaguely aware of the Grand Maester packing up his things and leaving hurriedly.

She went to his side and sat slowly beside him. Reaching for his face, she brushed his lips with the pad of her thumb wistfully but she never saw the smile she used to see whenever she did this. Forcing a smile, she moistened her lips before scooting closer, “my love,”

She found his large scarred hand and took it in both of hers. She dipped her head and kissed his palm, letting her lips brush over and feeling every ridge of his scar. Letting her eyes flutter close, she pressed kisses along his fingers and over the tips of them. She then clutched his hand with both of hers and lowered it to her swollen stomach, pressing it palm down over the swell.

Gazing to him, tears welling in her eyes, “he kicked again this morning,” she told him, guiding his hand over the expanse of belly, caressing it; their child, a life their love made on the eve of the War of Dragons, termed by the smallfolk and singers, “Sam said he’ll be ready, to come into this world, very soon. Whenever he wants actually,”

For a moment, alone with her husband, and child, she allowed some trepidation to seep into her and take root.

“Will you be there?” she asked, her voice smaller than it has been for a while, “with me, when our baby come into this world,” she whispered, caressing the back of his hand, still on her belly, tenderly. She looked down at their hands. Her hand looked so small against his, “will you hold me like you did when Jaehaerys was born?” she asked thickly. Only silence answered her and she smiled a faint, weak smile. About to lower his hand, she felt a strong kick in her middle and it brought a smile to her face. Letting out shaky breath, she asked him, “did you feel that?”

The Queen remembered nothing of her pregnancy with Jaehaerys but this child was active; more so than Rhaego and especially with the King around. It was as if the child knew and was reaching for his father with every kick, nudge or shift. Feeling them made her happy beyond measure. But every time she looked to the King and was met with the beautiful face of her lover, serene but unresponsive; completely oblivious to her and their child, her joy would leave her quicker than it came. She would feel cold all of a sudden and an overwhelming urge to leave, to hide, for she could not bear to see him like this. And she did sometimes. But every morning, she would return; for she could not bear being away from him more.

As the Queen gazed at her King now, taking in the features of her lover that she already knew so well, even before she met him, she sat quietly and waited. Then a soft knock sounded on the door. It was time for court and she has charged Missandei with reminding her. She stiffened, every inch of her wishing she could stay by his bed with him and simply watch him; her lover, her husband.

_You are a Queen._

The Queen closed her eyes momentarily, letting a familiar pain wash over her before she steeled herself, rose from the bed and turned from him; ready for court.

She halted then, feeling the fire of the dragon fill her and rear its ugly head, consuming her pain. She said, coldly, “Jon Snow,” a name that once brought her warmth and love now pierced her like a thousand knives, “you once said you won’t swear an oath you can’t uphold. Because when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything,” her heart rent as she echoed his words back to him. She remembered them like he had said them only just, “you said you’ll always find me,” tears welled up in her eyes as resentment for him unwittingly grew and she glared at the wood of the closed door, “you _promised_ ,” she hissed, wiping angrily at a tear as it fell, “and your words mean less and less every day,” she straightened, pulling the door open and walking out the door; a Queen.

But before she could, she heard a familiar, warm voice croak weakly, indecipherable. Her feet stilled but she dared not turn. A lump formed in her throat at a hint of the sound of the thick Northern accent; a sound her heart would always long to hear, a sound that she wanted to fall asleep to every night and wake to every morning. He rasped, clearer than before, _“Daenerys,”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... we're full circle now (literally with the first and this chapter) and last chapter to go! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think! 
> 
> If you guys wonder what happened to Jon: Jon may be a strong warg but warging into a dragon is generally unheard of, (imo) extremely painful and not without consequence. To make it worse, that dragon committed suicide and dying in the animal for the warg is very traumatic. So with these two traumatic events, Jon's mind basically hid and his body slept.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who commented last chapter. Was in the midst of trying to churn out this last, unbelievably long (probably the longest), chapter for you guys so I haven't had the time to reply to them! But I have read each and every one of them and they really encouraged me in writing this last chapter so thank you so much for them! So, enjoy!

Epilogue

_Five years later_

**Jon**

“ _My King_ ,”

He pursed his lips against the smile that he could not stop from spreading over his face at the sound of that voice. He looked up from his scrolls.

“There you are,” Daenerys strode into the chancery. He did not hear her knock nor notice her enter but Jon knew he could have missed it, as he always did when he was working through the intimidating number of scrolls waiting for his attention. Regardless, something about his wife and Queen having no qualms about entering his chancery, now shared with her, while he worked, made him smile. He placed the quill on the edge of the inkwell and rose from his seat; the work he has been immersed in just moments ago, forgotten.

“My Queen,” he greeted as he rounded the table, going to her, “you know not to call me that,” he muttered softly. Daenerys’ lilac eyes twinkled before she dropped into a perfect curtsy. Appalled, he lunged forward, his hands caught her elbows and he held her, “be careful,” he whispered, his voice wavering in anxiety. He wrapped an arm around her lower back and paused. His mouth dried as he felt her soft bare skin under his palm.

She was wearing one of her essosi gown again. This one was pure white. All of her sides from her shoulder to her hip and back were left entirely bare. The fabric of the dress was painfully thin and it dipped low and loose between her heavy breasts, affording him a sight that made a thick heavy lump form in his throat.  Jon was convinced that this time, the tailor had truly forgotten a large piece of this dress. He told her as he thought and she laughed melodiously, “well, I like it,” she said haughtily.  

Jon frowned, dismayed, when he realised she had held court dressed as such, “I don’t,” he stated gruffly. He went quiet but was evidently upset for he has always been honest and was not one to hide his displeasure and his wife knew that better than anyone. Slowly, he helped her to a chair.

She huffed as he made sure she settled in it, “Jon, I’m with child, not an invalid,” Jon felt his dismay lighten just slightly as his gaze dropped to the evident swell of her belly. She slipped her small hand into his larger, calloused one, “I know you don’t like it and I did try to wear a Westerosi gown this morning and I had put it on. But it was stifling, my love,”

He softened at that endearment and, especially, at the sight of her imploring gaze; her doe-like lilac eyes looked up at him. He felt her finger begin to trace his scarred palm, soothing the stiff thick skin there. He squeezed her soft warm hand gently as he knelt beside her; all feelings of discomfort seeping away and he only felt the warmth of love, “well… I suppose I will simply have to tolerate other men lusting after you on the account that you are carrying our child and suffers for it, wouldn’t I?” he sighed.

In her pregnancies, after Jaehaerys’, Jon realised she tended to feel extremely warm, almost always uncomfortably so. And Jon supposed it made sense. Daenerys has always felt warmer than most. Her warmth was rivalled only by that of their children’s; every one of them with the warm blood of the dragon in their veins, whom she carried in her womb. Because of that, Daenerys tended to favour her Essosi gowns, especially the ones that covered less than Jon would prefer but gave her much relief from the heat.

Daenerys smiled, shaking her head and Jon gazed softly at her. He loved her smile, “don’t imagine things,” she chided, “I am with _your_ child, no one lusts after me,” she cupped his face, amused.

Jon raised a brow, finding that hard to believe. Her pregnancy did little to mar her beauty. If anything, Jon thought it enhanced it; her cheeks flushed prettily, her breasts large and heavy, her body, now fuller, shapely even under her loose dresses, and most of all, she smiled often now and it was always a radiant, beautiful smile that reached her eyes. The unchangingly lingering gazes of the Lords who came forth to congratulate them when her pregnancy was announced was telling. But it was evident that Daenerys took no notice of her effect on others. How could she when she had only glanced over them to look to her King? “No one?” he pressed his cheek into her hand, a small, meaningful smile on his lips.

She chuckled, her hand grazing his beard and coming down to his chin, “no one but you,” she ran her thumb over his lower lip.

A breath caught in his throat and he smiled. He parted his lips, pressing a kiss to her thumb, “no one but me,” he confirmed. She bit her lips as her gaze fell onto his lips, her lilac eyes darkening into violet just so. Jon glanced to her bitten lip, briefly recalling how perfect her plump lower lip felt between his teeth and his lips, how sweet it tasted. Then his eyes flittered over her beautiful face fondly.

Jon had woken five years ago at the sound of her voice. She had sounded cold, angry then and when he forced his eyes open, finally breaking through the surface that was his own mind and body; her back was to him. After the third attempt, he managed to rip her name from his heart, through his parched throat and onto his stiff tongue. When she turned, the relief of seeing her lovely face again filled him. Then his eyes had fell to her swollen stomach, widening and he had tensed, bewildered as she came to him, cupping his face. The first thought that came to him was pain; for the time that has passed and he has lost. It was only when she took his hand and pressed it eagerly to her stomach and he felt the first kick, did Jon realise what he had truly missed and was later thankful he fought as hard as he did to wake.

Jon had tried to stop it; the dragon’s death but the dragon, panicked. In confusion and agony from the invasion, it has killed itself. He could still remember crashing painfully into the rubble of the dragonpit, hearing a loud sickening snap that was his own neck before everything dissolved to nothing. After the horrific death, he fell into a sort of familiar blackness but it wasn’t the darkness that frightened him; it’s the lack of the feel of Daenerys’ hand in his, her body in his arms, her skin against his lips, her absence. She was not here; they were apart and it frightened him.

He reached in the direction he thought was the surface and sometimes, he could catch glimpses of the world through another; a mind bonded with his, a mind fraught with pain, anger and sadness. But despite the despair, Jon found himself lingering near it, hoping to catch another glimpse of the world. Once, he heard her, talking to Rhaegal but no matter how much he screamed and fought, he could not see her and she did not hear him. So Jon had quietly sobbed as he listened to her heart-wrenching sniffles telling Rhaegal how much she missed her husband, her King; him.

Daenerys gasped, pulling Jon from his reverie. He blinked to see her small hand on her belly. His heart stilled, his stomach sank and he bolted to his feet, his mouth falling open to shout for the guards to call for the Maester. But Daenerys caught his hand firmly and he looked down at her, worried, “no, he kicked; that is all,”

Jon frowned but knelt beside her again, “are you sure?” he placed a hand over hers, on her belly, “you seemed-“

“He kicked my rib,” she breathed, “hard,”

He pursed his lips and dipped his head to their child. Daenerys’ hand fell away and he palmed her belly gently with both his hands, “Lad, I know you’re just trying to get comfortable, but _don’t_ hurt your Mother doing it. You have to be gentle with her, as she is with you,” he rubbed her belly and he felt a kick against his finger. He smiled, glimpsing the faint outline of a little foot through her thin gown, “hey…what’s wrong? Getting a little restless today aren’t you little lad?”

Daenerys sighed, “he was restless all morning,” she has been at court, the crown still on her head. Daenerys and Jon had come to an agreement that they will share the duties equally. But with the Queen’s pregnancy, the smallfolk has been seeking audiences with the Queen to shower her with gifts and blessings of all kinds; as they did with her last three pregnancies. So, despite his preference to have Daenerys kept in Maegor’s Holdfast and away from strangers throughout her pregnancy, Daenerys held court whenever she felt up for it; which to Jon’s dismay, was often. She was always insistent not to disappoint the people who waited all morning to see her despite her fatigue.

Jon smiled, rubbing her belly again, “didn’t like court, did you? Well, it can be extremely tedious sometimes but until you’re born, I’m afraid you will have to hold court with your Mother,” he whispered, grinning as he felt the babe move strongly against his palms. Despite that this was Daenerys’ fifth pregnancy, the awe of feeling their babe move in her, against his palm and almost as if responding to his words, never ceased.

Daenerys hissed, “stop egging him on,”

“Is he still hurting you?” Jon frowned, worried, “Dany… are you sure-“

She shook her head, “don’t worry. It’s not time yet,” her lilac eyes locked with his and he could see the confidence in them. He nodded. She has always been an extremely intuitive mother, and she was right most times, “he loves your voice; they all do. And this one feels stronger that’s all,” Daenerys said with a small smile.  

Jon sighed. This pregnancy has been difficult on Daenerys, more than usual, even before they found out. Daenerys had experienced a turn of appetite with their earlier children but she has always eaten; there will always be something that could tempt her palate. With this one, she threw up every morning, from the hour of the wolf till the hour of the nightingale, for three whole moons; heaving bile for her stomach was empty. Jon had been concerned she had fallen ill until he saw that Sam was right; Daenerys was only with child. In those three moons, she was unable to sleep, plagued with bouts of hot flushes and aches all over her body. She has also rejected all foods until recently. On top of that, this babe had taken to be exceptionally active whenever Daenerys stayed still which was when she rested.

He gazed up at her and removed a hand from her belly to caress her cheek with the back of his fingers, “I’m sorry, my love,”

Not for the first time, Jon wished he could carry their child, just once, so Daenerys could enjoy the joys of motherhood without all that suffering. This difficult pregnancy also made Jon question the way of things; if men were truly stronger, why should the Gods make the women carry the children? Why would the Gods make women suffer like that; and in turn, torture the men, who loved their wives so, for they could do nothing but watch their wives suffer? Jon had angrily told Daenerys this one night and Daenerys had smiled and kissed him. _Maybe the Gods wanted to remind the women they are stronger than they think they are._ She told him.

Jon had smiled then and told her, _you are strong. You have always been strong._

Daenerys shook her head, “don’t be sorry, Jon. I’m happy our babe is healthy and strong,” she rubbed the top of her belly fondly. He forced a smile, taking some much needed comfort in that fact. He hated seeing her hurt like this. He rose to kiss her tenderly. When he pulled back, she smiled, one that crinkled the edges of her eyes and Jon gazed at her, basking in her radiance. It was still incredulous to Jon, when he realised, that after all these years, a simple gesture from him could brighten her so; what his love could do for her even in her hour of agony. His heart sang that _he_ , of all the men in this world, could always bring a smile to her face.

“How was court this morning?” he asked, pressing a kiss between her brows, just beneath her crown. He glimpsed her close her eyes, the smile a constant fixture as he showered all his love upon her.

“The usual,” Daenerys replied, gazing up at him. She rose and pushed him gently into the chair. She sat on his lap, their bodies settling into the familiarity of the other’s; fitting against the other like two pieces of a puzzle, “although, a merchant came gifting the Crown with _a stone_ of ginger,” Daenerys recounted hushly, a youthful twinkle in her eyes.

Jon huffed, amused, “whatever for?”

She continued, chuckling, “he said, it would be good for bouts of sickness,”

Realisation came upon Jon and he nodded sagely, “so, a gift, not for _the Crown_ , but for _the Queen_. The usual indeed,” he gazed at her.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, “are you jealous, my King?”

Jon glanced to her before shrugging, looking around the chancery as he said airily, “no, why should I be jealous of the person who is now, the most loved and adored person in Westeros, and who also happens to be the most beautiful?”

Daenerys laughed and Jon could not help but turn to her, captivated by that lovely sound. As her amusement quelled, she took his face in her hands, caressing his beard with her thumbs fondly before she said, “well, you really shouldn’t, because you are loved, utterly and fiercely, by that person,” he gazed at her in wonderment as she lowered her lips to his, “forever,” she whispered before their lips met.

His hand unwittingly lowered, wanting to stroke her thigh and he sucked in a breath as he felt her smooth bare skin against his palm. He pulled away and looked down to see that her dress had a split, too high over her thigh that he had not noticed before. He groaned, “Dany-“ she did not let him finish what he was saying before she took his lips demandingly. Jon reached his other hand behind her back to pull her closer to him, minding her stomach. As his hand fell upon bare skin again, he felt a hardness strain against his breeches; pressing up against Daenerys’ bottom.

He felt her smile against his lips before she grinded her bottom tantalisingly over his arousal. Jon moaned, his hand slipping into the front of her dress from her bared side to tenderly cup her heavy breast that was incredibly soft in his calloused hand, “Jon…” she sucked in a sharp breath and pulled her lips away. Arching her back, she pushed her breast into his palm and he squeezed her lightly, mindful of any signs of pain but there were none. She moaned in pleasure and he felt her nipple harden against his hand. He groaned under his breath.

“We should go back to our chambers,” Jon whispered, his forehead against hers.

“I thought you have ‘urgent scrolls to read’ and ‘matters to attend to’,” Daenerys teased breathlessly. He had left their bed, too early according to Daenerys, when she was just rising. When she pleaded for him to stay a moment longer in bed with her, with the promise of not merely cuddling plain on her face, he had gritted his teeth and told her as such and it was true. Tyrion has been badgering them about the scrolls they had neglected because of Daenerys’ difficult pregnancy and their insistence to spend time with their children every day; each and every one of them.

Jon paused for a moment, feigning to ponder over it and Daenerys waited patiently, entirely unfazed. He tensed when he felt her run the tips of her fingers over the nape of his neck, just the way he liked and so full of promise. Goose bumps exploded over his skin. She bit her lips against a grin. _She knew my body better than I myself._ He felt a twitch against her bottom and the fabric of his breeches. An alarmingly pleasant sensation erupted. Jon said simply, quickly, “they can wait,”

But Daenerys was not in a forgiving mood today, “Tyrion beg to differ and so did you-” he growled in frustration at her teasing, pulling her to him and kissing her, hard. He then nudged her to rise so they could proceed to their chambers but Daenerys gripped his hand before he could walk her to the door and held her ground, “take me here,” her voice solemn; a command more than a request.

Jon blinked, the constraint of his breeches now almost painful. He glanced about, “it will not be comfortable for you, especially not in this state,” he said but allowed her to pull him to the large wooden bench beside the table, by the window. It was stacked with cushions for short rests.

“I will not risk going out there and having my husband stolen from me by the Hand,” she snapped and Jon chuckled. She grabbed his tunic and pushed him back onto the bench. He laughed in surprise but lay back all the same. Daenerys made short work of the knot of his breeches, her fingers practiced, yanking it down roughly. He made to sit up to help her as she shifted to straddle him but he found himself staring instead when she hiked up her gown. He already knew Daenerys wasn’t a modest woman but it did nothing to stem his surprise when he saw she wore no smallclothes underneath. Jon swallowed.

She smirked at him, sitting astride his hips and he lay back again. Jon smiled at her, placing a hand onto the large swell of her stomach. He wanted so badly to kiss her but he knew they both wanted something else more. His eyes followed her hand as she reached between them, her intent to join them clear in her eyes. Jon bit his tongue in anticipation, his gut coiling in sweet desire, as Daenerys’ eyes locked with his.

Sometimes, with the look in her eyes as she had now, fixated on him like that and her guiding him to slip inside her, already incredibly warm and wet, she could finish him; and she did, one time. Jon steeled himself, sure the sight of her pregnant body over him would only make it more difficult than it already was. 

He felt her warm soft fingers curl around the hard length of him and Jon’s breathing quickened. She rose just slightly and guided him into her. They moan in unison as her intense warmth enveloped all of him quickly, “ _Dany_ ,” he moaned, unable to stay silent. She whimpered and rocked her hips before Jon could recover, “Dany, slow down,” he gritted his teeth with the effort to withhold his pleasure to lengthen hers but Daenerys did not listen.

“Jon,” she whimpered and he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as she rode him relentlessly. With his other hand, he gently teased the hardened tip of her heavy breast, visible through her thin dress. She cried out in pleasure, her body and especially her breasts, incredibly sensitive. Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back, moaning as she found her release. At the glorious sight of her arching back in sheer pleasure, the sound of her moan and the feel of her clenching firmly around him, he finished inside her.

Their eyes found each other as they caught their breath, Daenerys still pulsing around him as his cock twitched, expelling the last of his seeds inside her. He smiled at her. She shifted with her legs to the side, adjusting her swollen belly, so he could hold her; staying on his lap, as he preferred. Jon sat up, his arm coming around the small of her back as his other hand palmed her stomach, “you’re so beautiful, Dany,” he whispered, kissing her bare shoulder and pressing his forehead to her temple. She hummed, smiling as he nuzzled his face against her cheek.  

Suddenly, they heard a sweet joyful laughter from the corridor, telling of an approach and they both froze. Daenerys slid off him and he hissed as he slipped out of her. She smoothed down her dress, calmly. Jon sat up, tucked his now, thankfully, soft, wet cock back into his breeches and quickly knotted it, sighing, “how we came to find ourselves with more than one child is entirely beyond me,” he told her, referring to their children’s knack for turning up at the wrong time. Daenerys chuckled just as the door burst open.

“PAPA!”

Jon’s face lit up at that sound. He turned to see Rhaella Targaryen tottering into the chancery. The sight of her tugged at his heart and all the bitterness felt for the interruption was instantly lost from his mind. He grinned and picked her up. Rhaella went eagerly, burying her small hands into Jon’s beard before she reached up to tug on his hair.

Little Rhaella Targaryen was their first daughter; after the brave unborn princess who gave her life so Daenerys could be here, so her little brothers and sister could be born. Jon had suggested they named her so, after Daenerys’ mother. Daenerys knew little of her but what Daenerys heard from Viserys and Jaime, both who remembered her fondly, Daenerys knew her to be kind, strong and always mindful of her duties. Viserys loved their mother, so much so that selling her crown drove him mad, and Daenerys, who wears her mother’s ring even now, knew she would too if she knew her mother.

Rhaella had a head of long silver hair despite her young age, having been born with more hair than all her brothers. She was the very image of her mother, from her thick long hair to her eyes and Jon could not have been happier. He loved his sons but when he first held his daughter, he felt an overwhelming urge to keep her in his arms forever and away from everyone else, even the wet nurse, even Sam. Jon felt so anxious over her, he had thought he was going mad. For the first few months, Jon spent his days indulging himself, playing with his daughter while she was awake and holding her while she slept but Rhaella grew up and she grew to be fierce and brave. And like her mother, to Jon’s dismay, she refused vehemently to be sheltered, much less be kept in her father’s safe arms all day.

She was always curious, always moving about and grasping for things. When she was denied, she released the dragon’s wrath, as Jaehaerys termed it. Everyone loved the Princess and everyone yielded to her; even the King, especially the King. It was common knowledge, within the Keep and a little beyond, that the Princess had the King almost at her every beck and call. Everyone smiled when they see the Princess on the King’s hip, a common sight in the Holdfast. Rhaella adored her father as well, often able to sit in his lap for a long time and amuse herself with his beard or his curls, if she could reach.

Rhaella smiled toothily and hugged her father, throwing her arms around his neck and resting her cheek on his shoulder. Then she saw her mother and reached for Daenerys, “mama,” she babbled. Jon walked over and Daenerys took her small chubby hand, kissing it.

Jon tore his gaze from his daughter to look at his wife before he asked, “are you sure it will be boy?”

Daenerys raised a brow at him, a hand rubbing her stomach absently, “Jaehaerys dreamt it, as did I,” she said, “why?” she asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

Jon bit his lips and shook his head dismissively, gazing down lovingly at Rhaella. But as always, even if he did not say it, his Queen knew.

Daenerys pursed her lips, “you want another princess, don’t you?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Jon chuckled and nuzzled his beard to Rhaella’s face, making her giggle and his heart melted at the lovely sound, “I will not mind it,” he muttered quietly, a small smile on his lips.

He glimpsed the edge of her lips twitch and she came to his side, her hand stroking Rhaella’s back, her face unreadable, “both our families have more sons than daughters, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were to be so for us as well,” she said, her lilac eyes settling on his as she finished, seeming to gauge his reaction.

 _She’s right._ Jon could not help the slight disappointment that fell upon him then but that did little to dampen the warmth deep in his chest at the thought of his sons and the thought of having more, “I love our sons as much as I love our daughter,” he stated stiffly. Daenerys raised a brow in doubt and Jon pursed his lips, continuing, “we will have seven more children after this one, they can’t all be boys-“

Daenerys’ brow raised higher and she blinked, laughing, “whoever said we will have seven more children?”

“I did, and you agreed,” Jon told her proudly. He watched, pleased, as her incredulity faded into realisation. She smiled sweetly at the memory. It was a long time ago but it was evident that Daenerys did not forget.

It was first time, of many, in which they went down to the city and walked among the people. Jon had brought her a winter rose that day, for the first time. Since then, every time they went to the city, he gifted her with one. Sometimes but rarely if he went alone, he would bring a stalk back to the Red Keep. They had dreamt of being peasants and Jon had casually mentioned having a dozen children, surprised when Daenerys agreed.

He pulled her to him with his free hand so her side pressed up against his, sighing, “but I doubt it is to be. You suffer for us to have another child, and I can’t bear it any longer,”

She smiled, shaking her head. Her eyes fixed firmly on his, she told him softly, “you are worth it,” his heart skipped a beat. _Am I really?_ Jon had always felt himself undeserving of her, undeserving of his children; this perfect family. Every day he was thankful for them and every day, Daenerys reminded him he deserved all of this; every happiness in this world, everything she gave him. Daenerys’ eyes fell onto Rhaella then, who buried her face into Jon’s neck, giggling as she felt this prick of his beard, “and they are worth it,” Jon withdrew to glance to Rhaella. _Of course they are._ His eyes found Daenerys’ again and he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Rhaella straightened as she saw him kiss her mother, “papa, kiss,” Rhaella demanded, pouting. Jon laughed and pressed a kiss to her chubby cheek, blowing a raspberry on it. Rhaella giggled loudly and squirmed away, “mama, kiss,” Rhaella babbled, her little arms stretched towards Daenerys.

Daenerys smiled and made to take her but Jon tilted Rhaella away, missing Daenerys’ frown as he gazed down at the babe and asked gently but sternly, “Rhae, what did I tell you about your mother? How must you be with her?”

“Gen…tle,” Rhaella said carefully. Jon smiled, nodding before he handed Rhaella over, guiding Rhaella’s legs carefully. Jon watched, proud as Rhaella wrapped her arms around Daenerys’ neck slowly, her pink tongue protruding from between her rosy lips as she struggled to be careful.

Daenerys shook with mirth and pressed a kiss to Rhaella’s cheek before pulling her in for a proper hug, “don’t listen to your silly Father, you don’t have to be _that_ careful,” Jon furrowed his brows in obvious disagreement and Daenerys smiled at him over Rhaella’s shoulder.

Soon, it was time to go to the dragonpit. As Daenerys’ handmaidens helped her change to a more suitable attire, Jon indulged himself with his daughter. He kissed her little hands and her perfect little fingers, then her beautiful little face, thoroughly. His beard tickling her face, Rhaella giggled in delight so loudly, Jon was sure Daenerys and their Crownsguards outside the door could hear her.

As Daenerys emerged, Jon glanced over her attire in disdain. Despite her large swollen belly, she looked ready to ride a horse or a dragon; the thought of both made Jon uncomfortable. Daenerys gently plucked Rhaella from his arms then and coaxed Rhaella to return to her nursery but as always, she insisted to tag along, “Rhaella, you will go when you are older,” Jon said gently but Rhaella shook her head and buried her face into Daenerys’ neck, “my darling,” Jon coaxed and as she heard the endearment, Rhaella peered at him. She loved it when he called her that for it was special, from him, for her, “be good,”

Rhaella pouted, “no! Dwagon!” her cheeks reddened, eyes welled up and tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. Jon felt his heart wrench achingly and he reached for Rhaella, intent on soothing her but Daenerys shifted away, just so. He glanced to her, catching the stern warning look she shot him. He pressed his lips together, steeling himself as he withdrew his hands and clasped them together. His eyes darted to Rhaella, a deep furrow between his brows.

Daenerys cupped Rhaella’s cheek, “sweeting, you can play with Suvion,”

Rhaella looked at her mother with wide watery lilac eyes, “Dwogon, Wayga,” she whimpered. Rhaella loved the dragons. In that way, she was very much like Jaehaerys. Between all the tales of the Seven Kingdoms, she would always choose to be read the stories about dragons. And she had always gone to the window when she heard any sign of Drogon or Rhaegal, no matter what she was doing. Then she would gaze at them from afar, marvelling at the sight.

“You can meet them when you are older,” Daenerys told her, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her thumb gently, “you are too small for them now, they can hardly see you!” Daenerys told her and Rhaella sniffed, quiet now, “at that time, when you are all grown up, Mother will bring you for a ride on Drogon,” Daenerys cooed, “so high you can touch the clouds,” she smiled.

At that, Rhaella perked up, her eyes bright through the tears, “Pwomise,” she pouted.

Daenerys smiled and nodded. Rhaella grinned and pressed a kiss to her lips, sealing the promise as they always did between mother and daughter. Jon smiled at the sight of his daughter’s joy. They then left the chancery and met Rhaella’s nursemaid. Daenerys insisted on nursing all their children herself, save Jaehaerys, so the nursemaid was only charged with caring for their children rather than having to nurse them.

Rhaella allowed the nursemaid to take her from Daenerys with a pout. Jon caressed her cheek wistfully before he nodded and the nursemaid bowed, carrying the princess away, “were you going to allow Rhaella to go to the dragonpit with us?” Daenerys turned to him, asking sharply when Rhaella was carried out of sight.

Jon blinked, pursing his lips, “no but-“

“But?” she raised a brow.

“I was merely going to comfort her. She was crying, Dany,” Jon furrowed his brows, his lips pressed together sternly. He could still feel the ache in his chest when he saw a hint of tears in his princess’ eyes.

Daenerys frowned at him before she sighed, “the men weren’t exaggerating when they said the Princess Rhaella ruled here,”

Jon chuckled, “Jaehaerys is the one she truly has at her beck and call-“

They turned as they heard a yip. Suvion cantered down the corridor, now monstrously large for a wolf and was more the size of a small horse. Jon smiled as the direwolf went to Daenerys as he always did, especially when she was with child. Once, they had requested Sam to check Daenerys solely because Suvion nosed her stomach more than he usually did. And the direwolf turned out right; unbeknownst to them, she had been carrying Rhaella then.

Jon watched with a smile as Suvion dipped his head as he came to Daenerys and whined, nosing her belly; worrying himself over the newest member of the pack. Daenerys patted him fondly between his ears. Suvion sniffed and rubbed her belly gently for a long moment, “Father, Mother,” they looked up to see Crown Prince Jaehaerys approaching.

Jaehaerys wore a maroon jerkin over a black cotton shirt. His curly silver hair had recently been cut shorter, as he requested on his tenth name day. He came to them, bowing respectfully before giving his father a hug. Jon squeezed his shoulders firmly, a tight smile.

_His first son. Their miracle and the one they almost lost in the War of Dragons._

Releasing his father, Jaehaerys went to his mother. Ruffling Suvion’s fur affectionately, Jaehaerys nudged him aside and gently hugged his mother. Daenerys cupped his face and pressed a kiss upon his brow, “have you finish your lessons?” she asked gently.

Jaehaerys grinned, nodding, “I beat Brandon today,” he said, speaking of one of his guard, “but I know he lets me win,” Jaehaerys furrowed his brows in annoyance, “I miss Arya, she would never do that,”

Jon smiled. Arya had married Gendry after the War of Dragons. A year after that, Arya had given birth to a boy, Eddard Baratheon, called Ned and following that, a girl, named Alys Baratheon. While Ned had stayed at Storm’s End, Arya had sent Alys to be fostered at King’s Landing. Fostering girls was not the way in Westeros but Jon was not surprised when Arya had suggested it. Alys, like her mother, had a strong preference for swords than sewing needles and Jon and Daenerys was more than happy to take her in and encourage it.

“Will she be visiting us soon?” Jaehaerys’ eyes lit up as he asked, hopeful.

Jon squeezed his shoulder, “she did mention coming next moon, to visit Alys,” Jaehaerys grinned and nodded, “where are your brothers?” Jon asked.

“Robb is in the training yard, as always,” Robb, their second child, has always been a wild spirit, since he was a baby; so much so that the Northern men who saw him said he had the ‘wolf blood’, the same Lyanna Stark and Arya has. Robb loathed the books and enjoyed his time in the training yards so much he spent most of his days there. At five, Jon was immensely proud of Robb’s knowledge and skill with a sword, a bow and now, horse riding that surpassed even Jaehaerys when he was five, “Aemon is there as well,” their third boy. Daenerys smiled and nodded.

“We should be on our way, it’s almost time,” Daenerys said, glancing out the balcony. Jaehaerys nodded and they began walking. Jon watched, amused as Jaehaerys raced Suvion to the training yard. When they came to it, they immediately saw Robb.

Robb was hard to miss. He was mounted on a grey horse, _Jelmio_ (wind), his silver hair streamed behind him as he rode. Jelmio was Robb’s horse, a gift from Jon for his fifth name day. Robb was given a small pony to ride when he was four but he had grown bored of it and lamented that it was not a real horse. When he was caught secretly mounting a stallion in the stables and almost falling off, Jon decided to gift him with a young horse; making sure the horse’s temperament was much calmer than its master’s. Jon grimaced as he watched Robb spur Jelmio too quickly around the yard, narrowly missing a page boy. Robb’s impulsive streak continued to prove worrying for both Jon and Daenerys.

“Robb,” Jon called, watching as his son turned to them. His face lit up in a grin. He turned his horse towards them and rode, too quickly for Jon’s liking. Jon stepped forward from Daenerys swiftly and grabbed the horse’s reins under its mouth, stopping the horse. Jelmio whinnied and came to an abrupt stop. Robb’s grin faded when he saw Jon’s deep, stern frown and unamused stare; almost a glower. He shifted uncomfortably and averted his father’s eyes as he dismounted agilely.

“Father,” Robb bowed his head in greeting and Jon felt some anger for his son’s impulsive behaviour ebb away but only some. Robb then shuffled past him to Daenerys, “Mother,” he muttered, bowing his head as well.

“Come here,” Daenerys opened her arm and Robb shuffled forward, wrapping his arm around her middle, his arm over the swell of her stomach. He pressed himself against her side.

Jon took a breath and approached them. Robb stiffened visibly as he caught his father’s approach from the corner of his eye knowing what was coming, “what did I tell you about being around your Mother these moons?” he asked quietly.

Robb hung his head, still pressed against Daenerys’ side, “that I have to be careful-“

“And what did you just do?” Jon demanded loudly, knowing Robb had to learn, somehow before something bad happened. Jon glanced to Daenerys then and caught her already looking at him. _You are being overprotective._ He could hear her say. _And too hard on Robb._ Robb chewed on the inside of his mouth and kept quiet.

“Robb,” Daenerys squeezed him around his shoulders nonetheless, “your Father asked you a question,”

Robb replied meekly then, “I rode Jelmio too quickly… towards Mother,”

“What if you couldn’t stop the horse in time? What if-“

“Jon,” Daenerys interrupted and gave him a meaningful look. They have always shared duties of parenting as with duties of the Crown, each of them chiding their children in equal measure. And they rarely interfered when the other reprimanded a child. But in treating her gently when she was in such a delicate state, Daenerys was not so strict about; much lesser than he was. And that was one of the only matter they could never seem to agree on.

Jon glanced to Robb to see the wild spirit in him dampen drastically, his silver head hung sadly. Jon closed his eyes for a moment before he crouched before Robb, “look at me, Robb,” he said and waited. Eventually, those dark purple eyes that Jon imagined was his birth father’s; Rhaegar’s, settled on his hesitantly, “regret is a terrible thing to feel; when you have done something and you know that no matter what you do, you cannot undo it, you cannot right that wrong. Always _think_ before you _do_ , Robb. Do you understand?” Robb thought for a moment before he nodded solemnly.

Jon regarded Robb with a hard look in his eyes before he cracked a smile at him, ruffling his silver hair. Robb saw his smile and knew the reprimanding was over. Robb grinned, ducking under his father’s hand as Jon made to grab for him. Robb laughed as he hid behind Daenerys, effectively avoiding his father’s attempts to grasp for him.

“Come here!” Jon grinned and chased Robb around Daenerys for a moment before Robb took off towards the yard. Jon slowed to prolong the chase, basking in the sight of his son’s mischievous grin when Robb glanced back at his father as he ran as fast as he could. Then Jon caught up with him and picked him up in his arms easily. Robb flailed, screaming excitedly. Jon tickled his right side where Jon knew would drive Robb almost mad. Robb giggled, squirming strongly. Jon tightened his grip on Robb and hoisted him over his shoulder.

“Father!” Robb complained loudly as Jon walked back to Daenerys, grinning. Daenerys pursed her lips as she always did when she thought they were playing a little too rough. But Jon could see the twinkle in her eyes that she had when she was amused, “put me down!” Robb kicked futilely and Jon tightened his hold on his legs.

“No, this is your punishment for being impulsive, _again_ ,” Jon shot back and Robb whined.

Daenerys rounded Jon and Jon craned his neck to see Daenerys holding Robb’s face gently, “when will you ever learn to listen to your father?” she kissed his forehead. Robb sighed loudly and relaxed, slumping over Jon’s shoulder in defeat.

“You will be carried to the dragonpit,” Jon declared and Jaehaerys laughed when he heard.

Predictably, Robb tensed and wailed, “no, Father, please don’t!”

“Why not?” Jon turned to face Daenerys, smiling. She smiled, shaking her head at him, closing her eyes.

“The people can’t see me like this!” Robb complained.

Jaehaerys approached, and teased, “Robb Targaryen, the one who was carried,” Jon laughed and Robb squirmed indignantly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daenerys said, trying and failing to sound stern. He knew her better than that and so did their children. Jaehaerys grinned at his mother, “where is Aemon?” she asked, glancing around the yard. Jaehaerys shrugged. Jon glanced around, looking for their youngest son as he let Robb down slowly. The moment his feet touched the ground, Robb hopped back out of Jon’s reach and bolted. Jaehaerys smirked and went after Robb, “Aemon!” Daenerys called.

Jon looked around but Aemon was nowhere to be seen. He exchanged a knowing look with Daenerys as they proceeded to the small hall beside the Tower of the Hand. Jon opened the door and peered inside, “Aemon?”

They heard the sound of a book slamming shut. Jon pushed the door open wider and stepped in after Daenerys. Their youngest son was sat at the long table, a large book in front of him.

“What are you doing here, baby? I thought you were supposed to be at your riding lessons like Robb?” Daenerys asked as she approached. Aemon Targaryen looked tiny in the large chair he sat in, gazing at his Mother quietly. Aemon had a head of thick hair and the delicate Valyrian facial structure but that was where the resemblance to Daenerys ended. Aemon’s hair was the same shade and curled as Jon’s and his round large childlike eyes were grey. Most who saw him named him a Stark immediately.

“I don’t want to ride horses, Mother,” Aemon replied, his voice soft but the tone behind his voice was firm, iron. Daenerys regarded him, amused. According to Aggo, Aemon already knew how to ride but had not enjoyed it as much as Robb did. Aemon had always looked uninterested but dutiful as he led his pony in a canter around the yard as Aggo directed.

“What are you reading, lad?” Jon asked as he crouched beside Aemon. Aemon’s grey eyes fell from his mother to meet his father’s and Jon found himself looking into his own eyes, “this does not look like one of your books,” Jon glanced at the thick heavy tome upon the table.

“I found this here, on this table,” Aemon replied. Daenerys reached over and turned the book to her so she could read the cover.

“A Complete History of the Andal Invasion,” Daenerys read aloud, her brows raised as she looked up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“They brought the Faith of the Seven to Westeros,” Aemon said to his Mother.

Daenerys nodded slowly, staring, “yes they did, Aemon,”

“This book said the Seven promised them Kingdoms in a foreign land, so they came to Westeros. But in another book, Maester Kaeth wrote that the Andals came to Westeros because of the expanding Freehold of Valyria,” Aemon asked, “so why exactly did they come?” When Daenerys did not reply, he turned to Jon, who blinked.

“That happened a long time ago, Aemon,” Jon started slowly. Aemon looked at him curiously, “sometimes, with time, the truth may be lost. What is written in the books is only what is thought to be true by the men of that time,”

Aemon furrowed his brows, “why would they think different of what the truth really is?”

Jon pursed his lips as he thought and inwardly sagged in relief when the door opened, “because sometimes men don’t know things but like to pretend they do. So they write what they think is true in the books even if it might not be the truth,” Tyrion walked in. He bowed, “Your Graces, my Prince,” at Jon’s nod, Tyrion approached, “that way when people believe what is written, they make what they know, the truth,”

Over Aemon, Jon met Daenerys’ eye and they exchanged amused looks as Aemon frowned, pondering what he learned, “then there is no such thing as the truth…” Aemon concluded, displeased.

Tyrion smiled at the Prince, “it is for us to find out, my Prince,” he pointed to the book, “that is one of mine but my Prince may borrow it if you’d like,”

Aemon’s frown faded into a small smile, “yes, I’d like that, Tyrion. Thank you, I’ll return it as soon I have finished,”

Tyrion nodded and smiled, “then I am sure I will receive it back quickly,” Tyrion’s tone was light, teasing and Aemon’s smile widened. Tyrion then turned to Daenerys and Jon, “shouldn’t the King and Queen be setting off for the dragonpit soon?”

“We should,” Daenerys turned to Aemon with a smile, “and we would if Prince Aemon here has been in the training yard, as he should be,” Aemon smiled sheepishly up at Daenerys as he hopped off the large wooden chair and came to Daenerys’ side. He slipped his small hand into hers and looked up at her with his large grey eyes. Daenerys’ gaze softened at the sight of those eyes and she smiled down at him warmly. Jon watched the exchange, a knowingly smile on his lips.

Aemon has always been the quietest since he was born, overshadowed by his two louder older brothers but he was the sweetest. When Rhaella had been born, he had alternated between keeping vigil by his weakened mother and his fussy baby sister. Between that and his grey eyes that were Jon’s, Daenerys had a soft spot for him.

Different from his two older brothers, Aemon favoured reading over horse riding or sword fighting. When he was younger, before he was able to read, he would always wait for Daenerys or Jon to come to read him a story before he was willing to sleep. Realising that Aemon loved the quiet and solitude more than the bustle of the training yards, Daenerys bought him a harp on his fourth name day just passed, and invited a harpist to teach him. He had been intrigued by music and from the word of his nursemaid, he practiced it every morning before he broke his fast.

Daenerys had told Jon that Aemon reminded her strongly of Rhaegar; from what Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime had told her of him. _Rhaegar loved his silver-stringed harp more than he loved his lance._ It was one of the first time Jon felt a connection to his biological father; through his son who resembled his grandfather more than either of his parents.

They departed for the training yards. Jon smiled as Daenerys unwittingly walked closer to him, their fingers brushing. Robb was mounted on Jelmio. Jaehaerys was atop his silver stallion, Suvion at his side. Aemon went to his black pony while Jon accompanied Daenerys to her silver mare.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked in an undertone as they neared the mare. Daenerys turned to him and smiled, nodding. _Dothraki woman rode till they went into labour and even then, they laboured in the carts behind the Khalasar._ She had told him when Jon voiced his objection of her riding.

“I’ll be fine,” Daenerys placed a warm hand over his and Jon felt his skin tingle, “ _we_ will be fine,” she guided his hand to her belly and Jon caressed the swell of it tenderly. He met her lilac eyes momentarily before she turned to her Dothraki handmaids and nodded to them. Jon stepped back, watching with his heart in his throat as her Dothraki handmaid took her leg and expertly helped her onto the mare. Daenerys mounted the mare easily enough, considering her state, shifting to accommodate her growing belly as she took the reins.

Jon gazed at her a moment longer before he quickly mounted his black stallion.

Five years ago, this day, the War of the Dragons ended. And on the same day, Crown Prince Jaehaerys had walked out of the burning Kingswood with a new born dragon on his shoulder. Every smallfolk knew that story and every child who was born since then, grew up hearing it. Every year since that day, the people celebrated dragons and mourn for those that lost their lives in the war incited by the Blackfyres. They had celebrated amongst the people at the dragonpit for the past four years. This would be the first year Aemon will join the celebrations and so, the people will see him for the first time and more important, Aemon will meet Drogon and Rhaegal.

As they left the Red Keep, the cries of the people grew louder and reached an almost deafening pitch. As they did every year, the people lined their path to the Dragonpit, a candle in each of their hand to honour the dead dragons and the men who died in the war as well as remembering the day Prince Jaehaerys’ dragon was hatched.

Jon and Daenerys rode ahead with Jaehaerys, Robb and Aemon behind them, “Queen Daenerys! King Jon!” Beside him, Daenerys’ face broke into a beautiful smile and she waved to the people she passed. Jon waved, nodding to them. The people waved back eagerly, smiling. Some of them made to come forth, bearing gifts but the Unsullied and soldiers guarding them stopped their approach. Daenerys gestured for her handmaids to receive them and smiled her thanks to them, “Prince Jaehaerys! Prince Robb!” Jon glanced back to see his sons smiling and waving at the people. Aemon was sat on his black pony, looking confused and a little lost.

Jon was about to break from the procession to ride beside Aemon when someone cried from the crowd, “Prince Aemon!”

Aemon looked up, surprised. Jaehaerys spurred his horse slower and Jon watched with a smile as Jaehaerys spoke to Aemon. Jon felt his heart warm as a tentative grin spread over his youngest son’s cherubic face and he raised a hand to wave. The people chorused his name then, beginning to push to get a first glimpse of the youngest prince.

He met Daenerys’ eye as he tore his gaze from Aemon. She looked at him knowingly, pride in her eyes as Jon knew there was in his.

They came to the dragonpit then, rebuilt after the wildfire destroyed it. The smallfolk was nowhere near it as decreed by the Crown, for their own safety. Around the dragonpit, fire of black, orange and gold danced.

Jon dismounted and hurried to Daenerys’ side. She smiled at him as she dismounted with his aid. Once her feet touched the ground, they proceeded to the dragonpit to call the dragons, his hand in hers. Sometimes, the dragons were in the pit, sometimes, they would be wandering the skies. But wherever they were, Drogon and Rhaegal would come to them.

 _Rhaegal._ An answering presence touched him and the ground trembled just slightly as Rhaegal emerged from the pit, on his legs and forelegs. Jon felt his chest ache at the sight of Rhaegal’s mutilated wing. Since the War of Dragons, Rhaegal had thankfully recovered but he could never fly as fast or as far as he did before and it frustrated the green dragon. Daenerys had told Jon, on more than one occasion, that Jon’s mind was what soothed Rhaegal’s restless one. Rhaegal purred, a soft screech at the back of his throat as he lowered his head to his rider and his mother.

Jon patted his snout with a smile as Daenerys brushed his scale gently. Then Jon turned to Daenerys. She glanced to the dragonpit before she turned to the skies. They waited and the people were quiet behind them, all watching with bated breath in anticipation.

A roar answered Daenerys’ silent call and it was a roar that made the hearts of grown men shudder; one that sounded capable of splitting the sky; one that could very well be the cry of God himself. They were plunged into darkness then as the sun was blotted out. The black shadow landed heavily before them. The ground trembled, some people shrieking in surprise and the horses whinnying nervously behind them. Drogon roared, his wings stretched. His wingspan was now so broad it knocked over trees despite the ordered expansion of the area of the dragonpit.

“ _Drōgon_ ,” Daenerys said softly and the black dragon’s roar died down. He snorted, eyeing the people with his great large molten eyes. Then Drogon came before Daenerys, his head lowered so it was touching the ground. But now so large, Daenerys could barely reach the top of his head. She looked up into his one molten eye, “ _skoriot gōntan jā ñuha riña_ (where did you go, my child)?” she whispered, stroking his snout. Drogon purred as if he was replying her and he probably was. Daenerys smiled. Drogon then shifted and seemed to sniff her belly, “ _aōha lēkia Drōgon_ (your brother, Drogon),” she told him.

At that thought, Jon turned to her. She met his eye. _It’s time._ Jon turned around and met Jaehaerys’ eye. Jaehaerys nodded and gently placed a hand on Aemon’s back. Jon watched Jaehaerys crouch and say something to Aemon. Aemon nodded. Then he took the steps towards his mother and father, and their monstrously large dragons.

Jon felt pride swell in his chest as he saw no fear in his son’s grey eyes, only wonder and awe. Daenerys held out a hand and Aemon took it when he came to her. Gently, Daenerys guided Aemon forward, before Drogon.

The black dragon’s one molten eye fell on Aemon beside Daenerys, regarding him as Aemon looked back at Drogon. Aemon then looked to Jon and at Jon’s nod, he extended a hand to Drogon but made no move to approach, as he was taught.

Drogon eyed him for a moment longer. Aemon looked nothing like a Targaryen but both Jon and Daenerys knew, a dragon would know his blood, as Drogon knew Jon back on Dragonstone.

 _Brother to brother. Blood to blood. A dragon reaching for another._ Daenerys would always to say.

But Drogon made no move to approach as he did with Robb. Then suddenly, a purr was heard beside Drogon. They glanced to see Rhaegal approaching. Aemon’s eyes widened. The green dragon stared at Aemon, sniffing him before stilling before him, close enough to touch.

Aemon glanced to Daenerys and Jon. At their nod, Aemon patted Rhaegal’s snout, the green dragon purring tenderly to him. Jon smiled as he felt a strong protectiveness flood into him from a mind that was not his own; from the green dragon. Rhaegal loved his brother.

Drogon growled, bumping against Rhaegal. Rhaegal snorted before he sidestepped, allowing Drogon to approach then. Aemon’s eyes were still wide as the black dragon came eerily close to his body, sniffing him before nudging him gently with his snout. Aemon giggled and Daenerys chuckled, palming the back of his head gently. Drogon then snorted and rose from the ground, as did Rhaegal. Jaehaerys and Robb came forward to join them then, Jaehaerys patting Aemon on the shoulder in praise.

“Jaehaerys,” Daenerys said. Jaehaerys met her eye over Aemon and he turned to the sky. A screech was heard before a ruby dragon with pale wings descended from the skies quickly. The young dragon landed before them and Drogon snorted at the dragon, half in greeting but half in hostility. Jon and Daenerys exchanged amused glances. Zalagon watched Drogon retreat to the dragonpit before it lowered itself to Jaehaerys in greeting.

With the dragons in the pit, the ceremony began. Jon, Daenerys and each one of their children were given candles. They stepped forward and dripped some wax on the ground before erecting their candle around the dragonpit. Following them, one by one, the people came forward, bowed in greeting to their King, Queen and Princes and did the same. By the time the last person came forth, the sun has set. No matter how tedious these proceedings were, Jon had always cherished them. Apart from the dragons and the men that died for the War, Jon did not forget that the people had risen up and fought for them on this day. It signified an important alliance in the realm, one between the rulers and its people. It seemed fitting that once every year, as the people remembered the dragons and brave men, the Crown remembered what the people did for them.

Thousands of candles surrounded them, lighting the coming night. The fire would be manned by the people and would remain lit until daybreak.

The people watched from a distance, behind the multitude of candle flames dancing in the night. “Thank you, every single one of you,” Jon said, “today is a day where we remember the losses but it is also a day a war ended and we are alive. Feast with your families, your loved ones, tonight. Every day is a gift, enjoy it. Live,” he felt Daenerys slip her hand in his and Jon looked to her. Against the firelight of thousands of candles, Daenerys’ ethereal beauty was breath-taking, her silver hair glowing. Jon squeezed her hand and smiled. The people erupted into cheers and clapped then, crying out for the King and Queen.

They turned from the people towards the dragons. Jaehaerys mounted Zalagon. Daenerys mounted Drogon with Aemon climbing on after while Robb and Jon mounted Rhaegal.

_Sōves._

Drogon roared before he launched himself into the air. Rhaegal rose quietly, slowly but surely. Underneath him, Jon could feel his thick sinewy muscles tensing and relaxing. It has taken Rhaegal a few frustrating moons to recover after the gruesome injuries and another few to fly. But eventually, Rhaegal learned to fly with the permanent damage from his injuries and Jon was there with him, guiding him, calming him with his mind. Jon understood Rhaegal’s pain for it has taken Jon almost a year to get over the overwhelming fear to attempt to warg again; after he has experienced death with Moonlight and lost months with Daenerys. When Jon finally did, Rhaegal welcomed him like an old friend.

After Rhaegal, Zalagon took the air as well, quick and swift.

Robb turned and looked up at Jon, grinning happily. Jon smiled, looking down at the sprawling city. Jon could still remember the first time he had brought Daenerys’ army to King’s Landing to take the Iron Throne, as he knew she would want. It had smelled terrible to him; like shit and piss and the people looked less than welcoming; they were hostile, angry and sullen. Now, activities bustled below as the people feasted happily on the food the Crown provided on this day, the smell that wafted to his nose only that of mouth-watering mutton.

Jon guided Rhaegal lower and he smiled as he heard the joyous, raucous laughter of the people below, “remember this, Robb,” Jon told his son, “you are born in a time of peace and surrounded by happiness and love. But it wasn’t always like this-“

“I know Father,” Robb looked up at him. He made a face then, probably in recollection of the painful times he was forced to attend his lessons with the Grand Maester, “Grand Maester Sam told me all about the wars,”

Jon chuckled, ruffling his son’s head of silver hair as he resolved to stop engaging his son in such a sombre conversation on a happy occasion.

To his surprise, Robb spoke up, “Uncle Robb died in the War of the Five Kings, in the Red Wedding, didn’t he?”

Jon felt a familiar ache in his chest as his cousin, who Jon took more as a brother, was mentioned, “yes,”

“He was a great warrior and a good leader, emerging triumphant in two battles against Tywin Lannister,” Robb said, “and he is brave and honourable too. Like you, Father,” Jon looked into Robb’s eyes and was happy but also afraid to see the pure admiration and adoration his son had for him. _Robb is… much better than I-_ Jon wanted to tell his son but Robb continued, “War is a terrible thing,”

A lump formed in Jon’s throat. Robb wasn’t asking but he was too young to know this. Jon asked, “why do you say that, Robb?”

Robb gazed up at him and said, “good men are gone because of it. And it still pains you and Mother to talk about it. You always grow sad when I mention Uncle Robb, or Uncle Rickon,” _the pain of loss never really goes away._ “I wish I knew them; especially Uncle Robb, the Young Wolf,” Robb’s purple eyes shone with pride.

Jon forced a smile and held Robb to him firmly around his shoulders, hugging him, “I wish he could meet you. He would love you,” Jon pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, “you were named for your Uncle Robb not only because of a war and what he did in it. Yes, he was a good King, a good leader, a warrior. But you are so named because he was my brother and he was strong, kind, and honourable. He loved his family. And when I saw you, I could think of no better way to honour him, and no better name for you,” Robb smiled.

Jon then looked up to see Drogon screeching as they approached the Keep. They came to Maegor’s Holdfast. Jon guided Rhaegal to allow them to dismount on the balcony. He watched with a smile as Robb climbed agilely from Rhaegal and landed firmly on his feet. Jon followed. He turned, patting Rhaegal’s snout and touching his forehead to his jaw as his mind touched Rhaegal’s, in thanks. Rhaegal purred before he flew higher, no doubt to settle somewhere high on the Holdfast. Rhaegal never left their side every year this night. He would keep vigil, as he did the night before the war.

Jon then turned to Drogon. Aemon was dismounting carefully, followed by Daenerys. Jon plucked Aemon from Drogon’s side and placed him beside Robb. Then he waited for Daenerys. She stepped on Drogon’s foreleg and the dragon purred, slowly moving his foreleg down to the balcony. She smiled as she saw him looking at her, worried.

When she was low enough, Daenerys snaked her arms over his shoulders and Jon carried her from Drogon. He placed her on the ground slowly and she turned to Drogon. She touched his foreleg gently and when she withdrew, Drogon rose, screeching as he took off.

* * *

It was late by the time Jon and Daenerys returned to their chambers. They had read Robb and Aemon a story before they slept. Jaehaerys had kissed them, bidding them goodnight before he returned to his chambers. When they peeked into Rhaella’s room, Suvion perked his great white head up. Both of them were on the bed, Suvion taking up most of it. The princess has fallen asleep with her head on the back of the direwolf, her little hands fisting his fur.

Daenerys paused at the balcony and gazed out. They could see the dragonpit, still brightly lit by the thousands of candles. Jon came up behind her, his hands gently touching her shoulders. The handmaidens were preparing a warm bath for them and they could see their King and Queen plainly. But since the War of Dragons, they no longer hid their love from their subjects or the people.

Daenerys leaned back into him. He smiled as she closed her eyes, resting her head back on his shoulder. Jon gently caressed her down her arm before his hands came to the small of her back. His fingers worked firmly, methodologically at the tensed muscles there.

He turned to kiss her on her cheek as she groaned, sighing happily. Behind him, he was mildly aware of the handmaidens taking their leave, the bath presumably ready. They knew the King will attend to the Queen, and would insist to as he did every day. Jon removed his hands from her back to undo her braids. Then he remove her clothes. Peeling away her tunic and small clothes, the smooth skin on her back was revealed to him; only marred by a scar of a stab wound. The sight of her attaining it still haunted Jon. He dipped his head and kissed her scar firmly, as he did every time he saw it. She hummed happily. Then she removed her pants. His mouth dried as she wiggled her shapely hips, dropping her pants and stepping from it, now completely naked. She turned to him.

She was stunningly gorgeous in the dim candle light. Her lilac eyes were bright and fixed on him. Her full lips in a smile. Her larger, heavier breasts were beautiful. Her nipples hardened as cool air blew in through the balcony. Daenerys did not shiver, not with their child in her, warming her. Jon sighed as his eyes fell onto the large swell of her stomach. Daenerys was due before the next moon and Jon felt the, now familiar, excitement accompanied by an almost crippling worry and anxiety. Then his eyes dropped lower and settled between her legs. Jon felt a lump in his throat that made it hard to breathe and his cock strained against his breeches.

Jon went to her, his legs felt stiff and weak at the knees at the same time. He touched her swollen stomach fondly, gazing at her, “come,” he took her hand and guided her to the tub, now filled with hot, steaming bath water. He held Daenerys’ hand firmly, his other arm around his waist, as she rose the steps and stepped into the tub. She sighed, her eyes slipping shut, as the heat of the water enveloped her.

She sat and opened her eyes. Daenerys’ eyes settled on him and glanced over him. Jon reached for the rag to help wash her back when she said, “take off your clothes and step in the tub,” an order.

Jon chuckled. He was the King but when the Queen ordered, he obeyed all the same; as did she when he had a command, “yes, My Queen,” he replied mutely, a small smile on his lips. Jon slipped out of his clothes. All the while, Daenerys’ eyes stayed on him, unblinking. He stepped into the tub, aware of her gaze lowering to his hard cock. He hissed as he touched the water. It was almost scalding hot. Jon has bathed with her before and it has been the same. But as it happened the last time, Jon took one look at her; gazing up at him, waiting, the hard nipples of her heavy breasts peeking just above the water and Jon settled in the tub opposite her immediately.

Daenerys smiled and found her place in his lap. She picked up a rag and soaked it before bringing it across his shoulders as he did with another rag across her back gently. All the while, as her gaze dropped to his body, washing him, his eyes stayed on her lovely face.

His wife looked the same; her face imprinted in his mind from when he had spent hours memorising her features while she slept her years away. Jon lost those four years with Dany; four years of living. She slept in those years and Jon felt, in a way, a part of him did too. He kept a part of him with her, in that room, even as he sat in court, in small council meetings and even when he was with Jaehaerys. But Jon did not realise that, not until she woke. With her by his side, Jon felt the weight lift off his shoulders. He could smile and laugh and breathe, easier; he could live.

As always, they did not manage to wash much of the other before the rags were abandoned in the tub, in exchange for the touch of their hands on their skin. Daenerys shifted in his lap and they made love slowly. Jon took the time to kiss every inch of her; professing his love for her in every touch of his lips to hers, pledging himself to her with every kiss upon her skin, telling her how beautiful she was with the gentle caresses of his scarred hand. As she did the first time the disfigured skin of his hand touched her, Daenerys arched into his touch and moaned loudly, her fingers clutching him to her.

As his love, wife and Queen came undone in his lap, his name on her lips, her bright lilac eyes fixed on him, he spilled into her. Jon felt an intense, almost crippling, affection for her flood into his chest then. As she melted against him and around him, spent, he held her as close as he could to him. He was the King of all Seven Kingdoms but in that moment, sitting in a tub, he felt he had more in his arms than he did when he sat on the Iron Throne or atop Rhaegal high in the skies.

Later that night, as Daenerys fell asleep, Jon scooted closer. He always waited till she fell asleep to gather her into his arms for Dany did not allow that while she was with child; between the intensely uncomfortable warmth and the babe tossing and turning in her, she would not be able to fall asleep in his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her slumbering form gently. He smiled as she stirred only to burrow her face into his neck and press herself closer to him. She murmured incoherently in her sleep and Jon heard his name. As he did every day, Jon whispered words of love into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, before he settled to sleep. As he drifted to sleep, far above their Holdfast, Jon could almost hear Rhaegal’s steady breaths and purrs as if he was beside them; watching over them. Assured, safe, Jon fell asleep.

_He walked through the doors the Unsullied soldiers pushed open. His steps were firm and looked deliberate but he took them with trepidation and much uncertainty for what he was going to find; for who awaited him._

_Will she be mad like her Father? Will she burn me with her dragons? Will she bully me into giving up the North, my home? Will she believe me about the Night King and Army of the Dead? Will she help us?_

_He glanced up to take in the magnificent structure of the throne room, tall and imposing; intimidating. Then his eyes fell on the throne at the front of the throne room; on the person sitting in it._

_His breathing stilled and his legs slowed, becoming stiff and heavy. He stared; a lump formed in his throat, his mouth dried, and his heart raced in his chest._

_“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn-“_

_He took a deliberate breath and released it shakily._

_“of House Targaryen,” the throne was as intimidating as the rest of the castle and the throne room, “rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Man-“_

_He shifted on his feet, attempting to but was unable to tame his pounding heart and ease his shallow breaths. She was unexpectedly young, about his age. She had long silver hair and a sweet, comely face. No matter how hard he tried not to think it, he thought,_ she’s beautiful. _She had an ethereal beauty about her even in such a dark intimidating throne room but there was the fire of a Targaryen Queen behind that beauty that was palpable even from where he stood. Jon has never seen anyone like her._

_“Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains,”_

_It took him a moment to realise silence has befallen the throne room and he tore his gaze from her; the pounding of his heart now fuelling caution and wariness instead of a dangerous, irrational, but undoubtedly blossoming infatuation. He glanced to Ser Davos, uncomfortable with having someone else introduce him as if he was a King, much preferring to skip the introductions, but he recognised it to be inappropriate at this moment._

_“This is Jon Snow,” Jon turned to her. She was regal and stiff in the tall intimidating throne, her hands clasped in her lap firmly. At Ser Davos’ words, she was unmoving but for the slight, deliberate dip of her head in acknowledgement. Her gaze on them was unshifting even when she heard his bastard name. She seemed to hold no disdains for bastards or if she did, it was completely hidden from him; as was what she thought of him as she laid eyes on him. His heart raced underneath his breastplate. She said nothing. He glanced to Ser Davos again in uncertainty and Ser Davos added, “He is King in the North,”_

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age of the children: Jaehaerys is 10, Robb 5, Aemon 4 and Rhaella 2.
> 
> That’s it! What a journey! Thank you to those who stuck by this story, through all the times I screwed up/ it wasn’t easy to read because of the screw-ups and almost constant angst! Hope I made it worth all the time and distress in the end!! 
> 
> For those who are interested to know:  
> Future Jonerys story? Yes, at the moment I do have an idea swimming around in my mind and I think it’s pretty original but I haven’t had the details down and it may be a while before the first chapter is even done but do keep a look out!


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